And the Devil Makes Five
by MaverickLover2
Summary: The Mavericks and Doc Holliday in Mexico. A dangerous combination if there ever was one.
1. The Devil Rides Along

And the Devil Makes Five

Chapter 1 – The Devil Rides Along

The horses were tired and the riders were saddle-sore and hungry. This had stopped sounding like a good idea a long time ago, and now it was just a never-ending litany of misery. And to make matters worse the clouds above them were gathering and growing darker by the minute.

"I think we better find shelter before the storm hits," the youngest one of the bunch suggested.

"I'm tryin' to," his brother snapped back, then regretted the hasty response.

"Up ahead, isn't that another cave?" asked the man with the unfamiliar accent.

"Does it have a bar?" This came from the fourth member of the group, the one that brought up the rear and weighed his mount down with two full bottles of whiskey

"Who cares?" answered the young one again. "It'll be dry, at least."

"No bar?" moaned the man riding last. "What kind of a place is this, anyway?"

"It's the desert. It's not a town, it's not a saloon, it's not a cantina. And you have more than enough to drink with you." This from the brother once more.

"Look, I was right. It is a cave."

Just as the comment finished the thunder boomed and the lightening cracked, and they urged their bone-weary horses into a gallop. The last member of the quartet had barely ridden into the cavern when the skies broke open and the rain poured down, drenching everything. Everybody dismounted; the youngest collected the horse's reins and led them further back into the cave. The brother and the man with the odd speech patterns gathered wood from around the cave opening and started a fire. The fourth rider clutched the bottle of whiskey to his chest that he'd removed from his saddlebags; it was the only thing standing between him and sobriety.

A few minutes later they were all seated around the fire, three of them chewing on another piece of the jerky that the brother had brought along just to be safe. Right now they were extremely glad he'd taken the precaution. The fourth was getting ready to take his first drink of the night from the bottle.

"I'm so tired I could sleep standing up," the youngest volunteered. "We're in for the night, aren't we?"

Two heads nodded in unison, the third bobbed to its own rhythm. "At least we're warm and dry. We've been in worse spots."

Three voices agreed to the sentiment. The fourth asked the rhetorical question. "When?"

There was no answer. Even the fourth member of the group was hard pressed to think of a more deplorable situation. They were wanted by the rangers in Laredo and pursued by the Mexican police; the banditos of Nuevo Laredo, El Cenizo and Rio Bravo and the Franciscan monks wanted a piece of them; and a beautiful senorita named Carmenita would happily marry any of the four she could get her hands on. And that wasn't the worst of it. Somebody had stolen their gold.

This group of four Americans that started out in all innocence as a bunch of treasure seekers was now being pursued by a variety of both desirable and undesirable elements. There were no longer just four of them. There was an additional rider with them; sometimes for them and sometimes against them. The first two were brothers; the next their cousin, the last a good friend. The final one wasn't a real entity, but a spirit that seemed determined to curse their lives, wherever they went. The group consisted of brothers Bret and Bart Maverick; cousin Beau Maverick; friend Doc Holliday; and the devil made five.

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	2. Cody and the Texans

And the Devil Makes Five

Chapter 2 – Cody and the Texans

Ah, the smell on the breeze! This was the Texas that all three of the Mavericks remembered. The air was hot and dry, and the smell of cattle permeated every single molecule of oxygen. Doc thought it was awful, and couldn't understand how anyone found the smell attractive.

It had taken a long time to get this far and even though Bart wasn't happy with all the bouncing around on the stage he was glad for the rest. And the mental strain was non-existent compared to what he'd just been through. Beau seemed almost shy at first around his cousins; somehow, someway the relationship among the three men had changed. Doc was quieter than usual, he didn't know Beau as well as Bart or even Bret and he was a little restrained at first. Bret, as always, was Bret. Not much affected him except worry about his brother.

By the time they got all the way down to Laredo everyone, Bart included, had enough of the stage and was ready for a horse. They spent the night at the Laredo City Hotel. Bart knew better than to room with Doc – if anybody snored worse than his brother it was his friend. They decided to splurge and got separate rooms – that was the only way Bart was sure he'd get some sleep.

Beau had a hard time sleeping – it was odd to be without Georgia after so many years of sleeping alone. Consequently, he was the last of the Mavericks awake the next morning and was just coming down to breakfast as Bart and Bret were finishing. Doc's idea of breakfast was the same as his idea of lunch and supper – he never went anywhere without his flask and, if he could get away with it, a full bottle.

Bart was still drinking coffee as Beau walked in. He joined them and signaled the waitress over to the table. "I'll have whatever he had," he told her, pointing at Bret's plate.

"Be careful cousin, he still eats like there's no tomorrow," Bart warned him as he started on his first cup of coffee.

"Do you ever drink tea anymore?" Bret asked.

"Not much," Beau replied. "Georgia's always got a pot of coffee going, and it's just easier. Besides, if we eat out and I ask for tea they look at me like I've got two heads."

Bart looked startled. "What – you don't?"

"Same old Cousin Bart," was Beau's rejoinder.

"Not exactly. There's still things that I don't remember – and things I'd rather forget."

"Just how bad was the reaction to the aspirin?"

"Bad," Bret told him. "Don't ever need to go through that again."

"You think it was bad – you should've been on this side of it."

All three heard the noise at the same time – the unmistakable sound of Doc attempting to cough his insides out. "That can't be Doc," Bret stated, exactly fifteen seconds before Doc rounded the corner and stood in front of them, looking like the devil had worked him over last night.

"Doc, it's daylight. What're you doin' up?" Bart asked.

Doc put his finger to his lips. "Shhhh. Doc's still asleep. This is a figment of your imagination."

"Does the figment want coffee?"

"Can I put my medicine in it without everyone having a Maverick fit?"

Bart had long ago accepted the fact that Doc's treatment of his illness was not conventional. Since Bret had invited Doc along on this exploratory adventure, he assumed Bret would at least tolerate it. Beau had said nothing so far; if he had a problem with Doc's perpetual state of inebriation, he'd have to speak up.

"Sure, Doc, it's your life."

"There's a nasty rumor going around to that effect," Doc answered as he sat down at the table and held his cup up for the waitress to see. She brought Beau's breakfast and the coffee pot. Doc recoiled from the smell of food as if he'd been shot.

"Ah, how can you eat – "

"This?" Beau asked.

"Anything," Doc answered. He poured half his coffee into Bart's cup, knowing that Maverick would drink it, and replaced the missing beverage with whiskey from his flask. "Now, gentlemen, you're probably wondering why I called this meeting."

"Speaking of calling a meeting. We need to get horses and cross the border today. Don't want to attract too much attention on this side before we go." Just as Bret finished his statement, a Ranger showed up at the dining room door. It was obvious he was looking for them; as soon as he saw the group he entered the room and headed their way. "Already?" muttered Bret.

"Gentlemen, I'm Cody Howard, Texas State Police. We heard rumors that Doctor Holliday was here in Laredo and I was sent to find out what the reason for that visit was. Anyone have an answer for me?"

Doc raised his cup to Ranger Howard. "Texas State Police? I thought you were still Texas Rangers?"

"We are Doctor, just with a different name. Are you here for a visit or has someone crossed your path at the wrong time of day?"

"My reputation precedes me, I see. Just here to see . . . uh . . . visit . . . . uh, help me out, boys," Doc pleaded.

"Just here for a visit, Ranger Howard," Bart stepped up and answered for his friend.

"And you three would be - ?"

"Maverick is the name," Bret responded. "All three of us."

"Brothers?"

"Yes." That was as much information as Bret was willing to give. Besides, they were raised as brothers.

"And how long do you expect to stay in Laredo?"

"Leaving today, as a matter of fact. Do you have some reason for the questions, Mr. Howard, besides general nosiness?"

"Nope, Mr. Maverick, general nosiness is as good a reason as any. Well, gentlemen, that's all. Just wanted to see what Doctor Holliday had in store for Laredo. Thanks for the information." Cody Howard tipped his hat and was gone.

"What was that?" Beau asked everyone.

"That, my dear Beauregard, is the price one pays for being Doc Holliday," the forenamed man replied.

"And that's just one of the many reasons for leaving town in a hurry," Bret reminded them. "Let's go, boys." The Mavericks got up to leave; Doc didn't move. He finally looked up at the three of them.

"Oh, you meant me too. I'm flattered."

Bart just shook his head. "Come on, Doc. Time to go get the horses."

"Yes sir, I'm on my way."

Bret wondered if this was what they were going to go through the entire trip with Doc along. He sighed. Sometimes it was like babysitting a two-year-old child. Sometimes?

 **XXXXXXXX**

The Franciscan monks were now closer to the twin towns of Laredo and Nuevo Laredo, but the old, abandoned and crumbling monastery lay in the hills far to the west of the Rio Grande River. Somewhere in that old building, so the legend goes, was gold that had been brought to the new world and buried where the monastery was eventually built. There it lay obscured for who-one-knew how many years after the abandonment, with many men trying and failing to find it. What no was aware of was that the gold had been discovered a long time ago – and relocated. The only man left alive that knew where it was now lost that information in a poker game – to Bret Maverick.

So on this day they guided the horses in the direction of the monastery and, once they'd found it, rode right on past. "How much further?" Bart queried.

"Tomorrow morning, early," came his brother's answer.

"Early?" was Doc's only question.

"Yes, early," Bret answered. "Unless you want every bandito in the territory following us."

"Not only them," offered Beau, as he watched the line of Mexican Federales pull up at the monastery and reform into a proper regiment. They watched the 'crazy Americanos' ride on, even further west into the desert. Since their orders only involved following the Americans to the monastery, their captain was content to let the group go on without trailing them any further. Once Beau was sure the Federales were not continuing, he turned and waved at them.

Bret saw the gesture and sighed. Maybe just he and Bart should have come down here and left the two children at home. But here In Mexico there was safety in numbers, and he knew they were stronger and more formidable than just two men riding together. He hoped that he wouldn't come to regret the decision.

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	3. Georgia on my Mind

And the Devil Makes Five

Chapter 3 – Georgia on My Mind

They'd been on horseback so early that there'd been no time for coffee or much of anything else. Bret wanted to get to what used to be Nuevas Piedras before sunrise and by pushing on through the dark they did. There was nothing left of the little town that had once thrived in the middle of the desert but some old crumbling buildings and a large herd of wild mustangs, and they found a suitable place to camp and stay cool during the worst heat of the day.

By nine o'clock Bart was working on the second pot of coffee and everyone else had eaten. Doc was already in sleep mode and Beau was not far behind; the brothers were left to discuss plans with no interruptions.

"So you really believe it's there? This isn't just some wild goose chase we're on?"

"No, Bart, I think Rafael was telling the truth. I spent a lot of time with him in that cell in Abilene; we got to trust each other. It was only after I told him about Montana that we started talking about the gold down here. He can't run the risk of coming back, and I was his best chance of taking care of his wife and child. By that time he knew me well enough to know if I gave him my word about something I'd keep it, and that's how I came by the location; a simple exchange. I got the whereabouts, his family gets his share. It's there alright."

"At least there's nobody trying to kill me, for a change. So far, at least."

"I don't think murder is the point of anybody that's gonna be after us; I think the only thing they'll want is the gold." Bret paused and looked over at the sleeping figure dressed in black. "Unless they're after Doc."

Bart started to laugh and then stopped. His ribs were still sore, even after all this time. "I've no doubt Doc has enemies everywhere. But you'll never find a better friend."

"I'm surprised he came with us. Lookin' for phantom gold certainly isn't his usual pursuit. He must think pretty highly of you."

Bart guffawed. "It was an excuse. Doc said it himself, last night. Get's him out of that jam he was in with the girl in Dodge City."

Bret shook his head. "You'd think by now he would have learned to tread lightly with the women."

"Doc doesn't know how to tread lightly with anybody, especially women."

Bret glanced over at their cousin. "What's with Beau? Did he say anything to you?"

"About?"

"Anything," Bret answered. "He just seems - like somebody besides Beau."

"That's what marriage'll do to ya." One of the things Bart hadn't forgotten was his own marriage, however brief.

"It's more than that," Bret responded. "Somethin's botherin' him. I can feel it. He hasn't said something?"

"Nope. Not much of anything, as a matter of fact. I thought it was just bein' around Doc at first, but that shoulda worn off by now. Maybe somethin's wrong with him and Georgia."

"Hope not. He fought too long for that weddin' to take place."

Bart leaned back against his saddle and pulled his hat down over his eyes. "How far from here, Brother Bret?"

"Couple miles, off to the north. We'll go at dusk. Really? You goin' to sleep on me, too?"

"Yep." A yawn could be heard. "Can't think a much else ta do. I'll be around later."

XXXXXXXX

Bart woke just before twilight. The heat of the day had already broken and the night air brought its own kind of chill. He looked around before he sat up. Doc was crouched by the fire, drinking what was probably a coffee and whiskey mixture; Beau was saddling his horse. His brother was nowhere in sight. That was enough to make him sit up quickly. "Beau?" he called out.

Their cousin turned as he pulled the cinch tight around the horses girth. "Don't know," he answered the unspoken question. "He was gone when I woke up. Doc?"

"Nope. Same here. Gone when I woke."

Bart was on his feet in an instant, his gun drawn. He moved carefully to his horse, grabbed a piece of mane and swung up bareback. "I'm goin' with you, Beau. Doc, if we're not back in an hour . . . . . "

"Send for the cavalry?" Doc asked brightly.

"Yeah," was the only answer. "Pronto."

They rode north, the way Bret had spoken of going, with Bart and the horse moving together in a natural rhythm and Beau close behind. Beau envied his cousin his comfort level on a horse; he'd forgotten how many times he and Bret had saddled up as kids while Bart just jumped on his mount and rode bareback.

They'd gone about a mile when Bart saw something on the horizon and kicked his mount into a full gallop. Beau followed but couldn't catch up until Bart pulled his horse to a stop. Bret was coming down the next hill, with something across the front of his saddle. By the time the three riders converged Beau could see that there were two, and they were black-tailed jackrabbits.

"Thought they'd make a decent supper," the oldest Maverick explained to the other two riders. "Brother Bart, you reliving your youth?" He was referring to the bareback ride.

"Yeah, well, you disappeared."

"Once again, supper?"

"How was I supposed to know?" Bart urged his horse forward and headed back towards camp.

Bret just shook his head. "He's worryin' too much these days."

"What do you expect?" Beau responded. "Everything that could go wrong has. Now all he anticipates is trouble. When we woke up, you were gone. That's why I saddled up. You know your brother, he wasn't gonna wait around to see if I could find you."

"I know, Beau. This was just somethin' to do while everybody else slept. One of 'em ran across the desert near camp and I gave chase. He took off and I took off after him. Thought maybe I'd catch us supper. I was sure I'd be back when you all woke up. Didn't mean to cause such a commotion."

Beau watched the back of Bart's horse race away from them. "He'll be alright, Bret. Just give him time."

Bret turned to look at his cousin as they rode back towards camp. "What's goin' on with you, Cousin Beau?"

"Why, whatever do you mean, Cousin Bret?"

"That crap, that's what I mean. You haven't given anybody a straight answer to a question since we met you in Denver. Somethin' wrong with you and Georgia? Or the saloon? What's goin' on?"

Beau glanced in Bret's direction. "Am I that obvious?"

Bret laughed and nodded his head. "Yes sir, to the boys you grew up with, yes."

"Bart's noticed too?"

Bret laughed while the horses walked along. "Did you think we wouldn't?"

Beau spoke slowly and carefully. "Georgia's sick. She's been feeling poorly for weeks and I finally got her to see Beckham right before I left. I was gonna send you a wire and tell you I wasn't coming but she wouldn't hear of it. Jody's with her, but I should be there, too."

Bret pulled his horse up and waited until Beau had done the same. "Go on home, Beau. You've got a wife to think about. This stuff will all wait."

Beau shook his head. "If I go home she'll never speak to me again. She made me promise I wouldn't say anything." He leaned against his saddle horn. "I'm worried, Bret. She's never sick. She tried to ignore it, but it just wouldn't go away. She's got a cough, just like Aunt Belle had. What if . . . . . . ."

"Nope. Don't think that way. She'll get better, she has to." A pause, and then "Are you gonna tell Bart?"

"No." The answer was swift and decisive. 'He's had enough to worry about. He doesn't need this, too." Then a look at his cousin that could only be called resolute. "Don't you say anything to him, either. I mean it, leave the poor man be for a while."

They rode on for a few minutes and their camp soon appeared. Bret finally spoke. "Alright. I'll keep quiet. I leave it up to you."

"Thank you. Hopefully he'll never have to know."

XXXXXXXX

Bart came tearing back into their encampment, kicking up a cloud of dust that fortunately drifted away from Doc. The gambler dismounted slower than he'd gotten on, and Doc waited until Bart had returned to the fire before saying anything.

"I take it that God's lost tribe of Israel was found?"

"He went out to catch rabbits."

"And you're upset because - "

"Because I thought the worst." Now that Bart said it out loud it sounded foolish. Maybe it was; but he and Bret had been through so much lately; and so much of it bad. He walked over and grabbed a coffee cup; Doc had started a new pot. Doc tried to hand him the flask, Bart waved it away.

"He doesn't like to be kept track of?"

Bart took a swallow of coffee and made a mental note: _'Do not let Doc make coffee under any_ _circumstances.'_ "Says I worry too much."

Doc grinned. "Gamblin' man's right. You DO worry too much."

Bart didn't find Doc's humor funny just then. "Can't help it. This isn't exactly a church social we're on."

"No, it isn't. We'd have better food." Doc grabbed the coffee pot and filled his cup halfway. Then he opened the flask and poured the other half full.

Beau and Bret rode up slowly and dismounted. Bret dropped the rabbits over by the fire and then wearily climbed back on his horse. "Douse the fire, Doc. I'll skin those and cook 'em when we come back. Let's go for a ride, gentlemen."

Bart threw the rest of his coffee in the fire and walked over to his brother's horse. "Bret – "

The older brother looked down at the younger brother. "Forget it, Bart. It's not important."

Bart smiled. "Okay, Pappy." This time he picked up his saddle.

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	4. La Hermosa Carmenita

And the Devil Makes Five

Chapter 4 – La Hermosa Carmenita

They rode almost silently; even the horse's hooves made little noise as they plodded across the desert sands. Almost exactly two miles north they went about fifteen feet past an abandoned adobe shack and turned west – then proceeded another ten feet to an old dried-up well. Bret pulled his horse to a stop.

"Somewhere down inside this well is a fortune," he explained. "According to Rafael, the gold is buried further down than any one man is willing to dig – that's why there are three of us here who can dig. And Doc – you're the most important part – you're the lookout. But we're going to have to do this at night, and find a way to make it look during the daylight like nothing's been touched. Which means the dirt we dig is gonna hafta be dumped," and here he turned and looked back at the abandoned house, "inside that. It's not gonna be easy, but it's gonna be worth it. We can get started tomorrow if everybody's on board. Bart?"

"Yep."

"Beau?"

"I'm in."

"Doc? You with us?"

Doc sighed. This was one time he was glad his rather frail physical condition would keep him from participating in the actual labor. "Sure – I haven't got anything better to do out here."

"Tomorrow night, then. Soon as the sun's down. Bart, I'm goin' into Santa Pietro for the supplies we'll need to get this done - you comin' along?"

Bart shook his head. "Take Beau. I'll stay back at camp with Doc."

Bret gave his brother a 'what is that for?' look but let it go. "Doc, anything you need? Besides another bottle?"

"No sir, another bottle would be just fine. Unless you could bring a young lady or two in your saddlebags."

Bret almost snorted. "Didn't you have enough of that in Dodge?"

"Son, there is never enough of that."

Bret shifted his gaze from Doc to Beau. "You ready?"

"Sure."

The Maverick cousins both spurred their horses forward and headed west, into the night. Bart turned to Doc, who was watching him with more than idle curiosity. "Why didn't you go with him?"

"And subject you to the rest of the night with Beau?"

Holliday chuckled. "Nothing wrong with your cousin that a good stiff drink wouldn't fix."

Bart gave that a lot more thought than it probably deserved. "I don't think one would be enough."

"What have you Mavericks got against drinking, anyway?"

"Nothing," Bart answered. "As long as it's somebody else doin' the drinking." He'd gotten down from his horse to take a closer look at the dusty, dry well. Digging it out would not be an easy or pleasant task. He turned his attention elsewhere. "Let's go back and take a gander at that." He pointed at the remains of the shelter – three walls and part of a roof. More than enough to disguise the mounds of dirt that would soon be filling it. Doc headed his horse in the direction of the shack, Bart simply kept a grip on the reins and walked his horse back to what had once been home to someone.

The structure wasn't entirely empty, the way it looked from a distance. An old carved wooden table stood on three legs in one corner; a lump of something at the other end of the structure attracted Bart's attention; he went down there and bent to pick up a dirty and bedraggled hand-made doll. One eye was gone and her sewn-on smile was lopsided and half missing, giving her an 'end-of-the-world' look. He wondered how long ago a child played with the toy as he set her down, carefully, against one of the still-standing walls. Bart looked at Doc with a wan smile and thought about his last dream of Caroline and their twins. Would Belle have played with a doll that he made for her? He was brought back to reality abruptly as he realized that Doc had asked him a question.

"I'm sorry, Doc, what was that?"

"Just wondered where you went. You sure weren't here with me."

"Yeah, it's a long story. Anything you want to see?"

"Nope. You've seen one crumbling adobe hut, you've seen 'em all." Doc reached for his flask and took a long drink. "You ready to go?"

"Sure." On some strange impulse Bart bent down and picked up the doll, putting her inside his saddlebags. Doc gave him a questioning look but said nothing. Whatever demons Bart Maverick had were his own, and Doc wasn't about to pry any further into his past than he already had.

They rode in silence back to the makeshift camp, Bart's mind on what-might-have-been and Doc's on his next drink. Bart took both horses and unsaddled them; by the time he got back to the rekindled fire it was beginning to get light. Doc had skinned the rabbits; Bart was surprised to find another unknown talent in his friend. "Learned when I was a kid," Doc volunteered by way of explanation to the curious gambler.

Bart just nodded and started a fresh pot of coffee. Once that was ready he and Doc settled in for sunrise, one drinking black coffee, the other drinking almost straight whiskey with a splash of black gold just for looks. Ultimately Bart broke the silence that hung over them. "Doc, you ever dream?"

"Do nightmares count?"

"No, I mean just plain old 'what if' dreams."

"Nope. What have I got to dream about anyway?"

Bart was silent for a minute, pondering the direction of his next question. "What would you do differently if you could?"

Doc looked at Bart through half closed eyes and asked a question of his own. "You been in my whiskey when I wasn't looking? No? You sure?"

"Sometimes I think it'd be easier if I was."

Holliday set his cup on the ground. "No, it wouldn't. Take my word for it." With one fluid motion he retrieved the cup and drained it. "One drunk in any group is enough."

Bart heard a sermon coming, something Doc did only on rare occasions. "Somethin's eatin' at you, my friend, and it has been for a while, and if you don't find a way to deal with it, you'll end up just like me, only with less of a reason for it. And I'd hate to see someone try to duplicate my success."

There was only one thing Bart could do, and that was laugh. Doc was right. It was time to quit brooding about the past and the things he couldn't change, and look at the future and the things he could. _'See, Bret,'_ he thought to himself _, 'staying here with Doc was the right thing to do.'_ He spread the fire out and let the flames die, then used his bedroll as a pillow and pulled his hat down over his eyes. "You're right, Doc," he said just before going to sleep, "I have to find a different direction."

XXXXXXXX

Santa Pietro could be considered a hamlet; it was too small to be a town. It had a little general store and an even smaller cantina, along with a cárcel and two or three other nondescript small businesses. Bret gave his list of required equipment to the owner of the general store, who promptly invited the Americanos to enjoy a beverage at the cantina while he gathered the merchandise. Rarely did he have such a large order and he was more than happy to pay for a round of drinks to keep the buyers occupied. Bret and Beau wandered next door to the cantina and ordered coffee. Carmenita served them with her brightest smile and a flirtatious shake of her long black curls.

The gringos were clean and polite, and devastatingly handsome. Both of them. The taller one was dark haired and dark eyed; there was something deep to his soul, she could feel it. The other one had a funny way of speaking and was both lighter in coloring and disposition; he laughed easily and smiled often. She was in love instantly and would have been hard pressed to choose between the two. They talked quietly and something in their manner told her they were related. Too much difference to be full brothers – maybe different mothers, half-brothers or cousins, but comfortable in each other's company.

She heard names – the lighter one was Beau, the darker one Bret. They drank coffee the way the locals drank tequila or mescal – like it was necessary for survival. She caught a third name that came up often in their conversation – Bart, and it sounded like another relative. _'Oooh, how delicious,_ ' she thought, could he possibly be as exquisite as the two sitting at her table were? Once again she came by with the coffee pot; the one called Bret finally smiled at her as he said "Si, Señorita," and it was like someone lit up the darkness.

' _Madre de Dios!'_ was the first thing that crossed her mind. Such a smile. She had to know more than what little she'd been able to overhear. "¿Son ustedes de Nuevo Laredo?"

He smiled at her again and answered her question. "No, Señorita, Texas."

She turned to the other man and waited for his answer to the same question. "Si, Señorita, Texas."

Carmenita sighed. Of course they weren't from Nuevo Laredo. Nobody that looked like that, with those manners, would be from anywhere close to here. Esteban, the owner of the small general store, appeared in the doorway and signaled to the two strangers. He was done with their order. That meant they were leaving, and she was broken-hearted. The dark haired one left money on the table; she picked it up and ran after them. "No,Señor, is paid for by Esteban," she tried to explain to him.

He curled her fingers around the money. "For you, Señorita. Por favor mantenga."

Bret had just made the friend that would prove integral in saving all their lives and their freedom.

Cárcel - Jail

¿Son ustedes de Nuevo Laredo? – Are you from Nuevo Laredo?

Por favor mantenga – Please keep

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	5. The End of the Dream

And the Devil Makes Five

Chapter 5 – The End of the Dream

Bret was right about the rabbits; they made a delicious supper. He was pleased to find Bart in a better frame of mind upon their return; no matter how much his brother protested that everything was fine, Bret knew that wasn't true. Maybe time alone with Doc had been productive after all.

There wasn't much to do besides play poker or lie around and sleep during the heat of the day; once again at dusk the band of fortune hunters packed their mounts and headed north. Supplies needed for digging and excavation were unloaded into the farthest corner of the adobe shack; then the real work began. Doc had it easy, all he had to do was make sure they weren't being watched. The Maverick boys had the tough part, digging into the hard packed dirt and transporting it to the shack. They used a blanket secured to each saddle as a sort of makeshift wheelbarrow; that way, with every trip that was made, each horses tracks were obliterated. By the time dawn came there were three exhausted and filthy men more than ready to sleep.

After all their hard work they'd only succeeded in digging down about four feet. Bart shook his head wearily. "This could take forever."

His brother had to laugh. "That's only the first night. Talk to me in a week."

They were almost back to camp and the horses weren't moving much faster than they were. "Uh, boys?" Doc suddenly came to life.

Beau saw them first, just over the next ridge. A half-dozen or so of the region's finest banditos, sitting almost motionless on their horses, watching the small procession inch its way back to the ruins of the once thriving community. They made no move, just sat and watched as the group moved closer to the abandoned town. "Ride past camp," Bret suggested, and since no one had a better idea, that's what they did.

When they got to the last crumbling building and it appeared that they were simply riding through Nuevas Piedras, the banditos turned their horses and rode the other way. Bret, in the lead, kept going for a few hundred feet until the horseman were out of sight and then pulled up. "I wonder how long before they're back?"

Doc spoke up. "They'll give it a couple days. Then if we're still here they'll pay closer attention."

"Doc's right. We haven't got much time before they figure out what's goin' on. Then even darkness isn't gonna help," Bart added.

"Then we just have to make the most of the time we do have, don't we?" Bret responded. "Get there earlier, work faster, whatever it takes, or we'll leave empty handed. I sure don't wanna do that, if what Rafael said was down there actually is."

Beau turned his horse around and headed back to their camp. "All well and good," he said, "but I can't keep my eyes open another minute. I'm goin' to sleep."

The other three riders circled their mounts to follow the transplanted Texan. Whatever each of them believed, they agreed that sleep was the next order of business. _'Damn,'_ thought Bret, _'Rafael was right._ _He was sure the bandits would find us first.'_

Bart was convinced they'd walked into another pile of trouble. After everything he'd been through in the past few weeks he just wanted some peace and quiet, and this might be the first sign there was none of that to be had. Strong as the bond between the brothers Maverick was, he would only follow Bret so far on this one. Right now was not the time to make a decision like that, he reasoned, the only thing on his mind was sleep. Once they reached camp he dismounted and unsaddled his horse, then carried the tack over to the other side of the soon-to-be-extinguished fire. Some nights his saddle wouldn't do as a pillow; this wasn't one of those nights. Food didn't matter. Every bone in his body ached from shoveling dirt and ferrying it to its new resting place and the only thing he wanted was sleep. So when he saw Bret headed his way he braced himself for a discussion he was in no mood to have.

"You don't look very happy."

Where had Bret been the last ten hours? "No? I'm exhausted. What do you need?"

The look on Bret's face never changed but his tone did. "Just wanted to make sure you were alright. You were awful quiet out there tonight."

He heard the concern in his brother's voice and thought back to the protective way Bret acted in Cheyenne. "I'm alright. Just tired. Got a lot of things on my mind."

"Oh? Did you and Doc talk when we were in Santa Pietro?"

Bart instinctively knew what was going on. "Yeah, we did. He gave me some things to think about." Bart deliberately changed the subject, he really hadn't had time to consider his conversation with Doc and he didn't want to discuss it with Bret right now. "Anything interesting in Santa Pietro?"

A smile spread across Bret's face as he considered the question. Actually he smiled as he considered the Señorita. Oh yeah, she was definitely interesting. "Not much," he told his brother. "It's so small if you sneeze you'll miss it." Bart wasn't the only one that could keep secrets.

Bret's last remark brought a grin to his brother's face. _'Must be a woman,'_ he thought to himself. He could usually tell when Bret wasn't giving him a straight answer, and this was one of those times. "Next time we need supplies I'll go with you."

There was an almost imperceptible change in Bret's demeanor. "Sure. Fine with me." All of a sudden it seemed like an excellent time to go to sleep and let Bart do the same.

As his brother started to walk away, Bart called out, "Bret."

He stopped and turned around. "Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"What for?"

Bart had to smile again. "Everything."

XXXXXXXX

 _He was in an immense field, with wheat as tall as his chest. Off in the distance he could hear Georgia's voice, and he tried to move towards it, but it seemed like he only got further away no matter which way he ran. He could hear her desperate "Beau! Beau!" but he couldn't get to her. After a long struggle he escaped the wheat field and found himself on one side of a handsome meadow. Again he heard Georgia's voice call him; when he finally saw her, she was on the opposite side of the field. By the time he reached the spot she'd been in, she was gone._

 _He looked around in confusion and heard a different voice, his stepdaughter's voice. She was crying and calling "Mama" and he was no longer in the meadow, but in town, in a room he didn't recognize, and there was a coffin at the end of the room. The lid was open and he could smell roses and prairie flowers, but he couldn't see who was in the casket. He walked towards the coffin slowly and as he got closer the body inside became more distinct until he could see it clearly – his beloved Georgia._

" _NO!" He yelled at the lifeless form and scooped her up in his arms, trying everything he could think of to bring her back to him. Nothing worked and he wept; suddenly he was back in the meadow, and Georgia was nowhere to be seen._

He woke with a jolt and sat bolt upright, soaking wet with sweat. It was almost twilight and his body hurt as if he'd been beaten with the shovel instead of simply using it to dig. It took more than a minute for him to realize he was in the middle of the Mexican desert and not at home in Montana. He blinked and looked around, left and right, but the only thing he saw were his cousins and the horses. No Georgia. No Jody. No meadow or funeral home. He finally breathed, realizing it had all been a nightmare.

He got to his feet and looked for the canteen, cupping his hand to catch the water he spilled out and splashing it on his face. The cool liquid felt good and it brought him fully awake. Bret had just saddled his horse and was tightening the cinch as Beau approached him; his cousin stopped what he was doing when he saw Beau's face.

"My God man, you look like you've seen a ghost."

Beau collapsed back against Bret's horse limply. "I have, Bret. Georgia's ghost."

"What?"

"You heard me. I dreamt my wife was dead."


	6. Cioffee and Banditos

And the Devil Makes Five

Chapter 6 – Coffee and Banditos

"It wasn't real, Beau. It was only a dream."

"It was a nightmare."

Bret nodded. He'd had a few of his own like that. "The point is it's not real."

"Yeah. I know you're right. I'll get saddled."

Bret watched his cousin stumble away and stagger over to his horse just as Bart approached. "What's with Beau?"

Bret gave his brother one of those _'I'm giving you an answer but please don't ask any more questions'_ looks. "Nightmare."

Bart nodded sagely. He knew all about those, too. "Ah."

Just then Doc meandered over. "Is this a private party or can anyone join?"

Bret and Bart both said "Private" at the same moment and laughed.

"Sorry, Doc, it was a family matter," Bart offered by way of apology. "You ready to go?"

Doc nodded. "When have I not been?"

XXXXXXXX

Doc's estimate of the banditos patience was wrong; it was almost five days before they saw any sign of the outlaws again. And even then they couldn't be sure if it was the same group or a different bunch that appeared one morning on the trip back to camp.

One minute there was nothing there; the next minute a line of riders watched them carefully from a hill-top to the west. "Our friends are back" Doc announced in case any of the Mavericks had missed seeing them.

Bret's head came up sharply and he scanned the group for any sign of movement or a leader. The line of riders remained still and steady; there were at least a dozen men watching their every move. The group of four men pulled their horses into a tight bunch as they continued southward.

The banditos wasted only a few minutes watching them before once again turning away and heading west, but this time they left a single man to trail the Maverick group. He stayed a respectable distance away but followed them down to camp and found himself a shaded spot to keep watch from.

"Well, we have a babysitter," Bart announced as they dismounted at camp.

"That's not the same bunch as before," Doc offered. "But it is nice to know we're popular."

"Popular or not, I'm goin' to make another pot of coffee." Bart headed towards the fire before Doc could stop him.

Doc turned back to Bret. "Somebody's gonna have to go to Santa Pietro, or your brother's gonna have a - " before he could finish his thought Bart let out a yelp like somebody had just hit him. He came running back over to Doc and his brother.

"There's no more coffee. How far to that dang town?"

Bret started laughing, even though Bart had a stricken look on his face. "Doc, you sure called that one." Doc just shrugged and walked away, so Bret answered his brother's question with one of his own. "I take it you want to make a trip to Santa Pietro?"

"Now," was Bart's answer. "You know I live on the stuff."

Bret looked at his brother and made his own assessment. "Maybe you shouldn't."

"I'm goin', Brother Bret. What else do we need?"

"I got a list. You willing to go right now?"

It took Bart about five seconds to grab his horse's reins and mount. "Is that right now enough for ya?"

Bret tightened the cinch on his saddle and swung up on his horse. "Yep, works for me. Beau, Doc, anything you want or need?"

Beau shook his head, Doc just looked up and smiled. "Alright, we'll be back." Bret headed his mount west at a reasonable canter while Bart's horse pranced and pawed it's way alongside. Not being whiskey drinkers had made them both coffee men since an early age, and it was a standing joke that Bart couldn't live without the stuff. Bret knew they were all drinking a lot of it and had intended to go after additional supplies two days ago but was just too tired to make the trip. His younger brother had given him no choice.

They rode in silence most of the way and saw nothing of the banditos they'd encountered earlier. Their babysitter had not followed them but stayed in his position of comfort to watch the two remaining men sleep. Esteban was again in the general store and was more than happy to see the Americanos. As before, he sent them to the cantina and, like every other day, Carmenita was there. Of course, she remembered the dark-haired gringo, but this time he brought a different man with him. She wondered if this was the 'Bart' that was spoken of on the first visit. It didn't take long to figure out that the answer to her question was 'si.'

She didn't ask, just served them both coffee. "Muchas gracias, Señorita" from Bart, who gave her the same knee-weakening smile she'd first seen from his – brother? Cousin? She had no doubt these two were related, the resemblance was too strong between them. This one was thinner, not quite as tall or as dark, but had eyes that danced and shined when he looked at her. He favored her with another smile. "¿Cuál es tu nombre, Señorita?" he asked her.

For the first time in her life she found herself answering shyly, "Carmenita. You are Señor Bart, Si?"

He laughed, delighted that she knew his name. "Si, Carmenita." He turned to Bret and asked "Is this what you found uninteresting in Santa Pietro?"

"Who, Carmenita? Why, we're old friends, aren't we Señorita?" Bret responded as he took Carmenita's hands in his. There was that earth-shattering smile again, and the resemblance was even stronger.

"¿Ustedes son hermanos?" she asked, and both responded "Si."

"And Beau?" She interspersed her Spanish with the little English she knew.

Again, the laugh, this time from the darker of the two. The sounds from the brothers were very different, yet very much alike. "Dejamos Beau en la casa."

Again Esteban appeared in the doorway and motioned to the men. Bart looked at Bret and indicated the store owner. "Go pay for it, I'll stay here until you're done." Then he turned his attention back to Carmenita. "Carmenita, estás aquí por la noche?"

"Si, Señor, hasta el ocaso. You come back?"

"Not tonight, Carmenita, but soon maybe." He grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. Once again she was in love. Where had these men come from? Every gringo she'd met was course, and rude, and loud, and had no manners at all. But these men were charming, and polite, and soft-spoken. And hermoso.

Bret reappeared in the doorway to the cantina and waited while his brother kissed her hand again and stood, tipped his hat to her, and walked out. She looked down at the table. Again there was money for her. She picked it up and smiled to herself.

¿Cuál es tu nombre – What is your name

¿Ustedes son hermanos? – Are you brothers

Dejamos Beau en la casa - We left Beau at home

Carnenita, estás aquí por la noche – Carmenita, are you here after dark

Si, Señor, hasta el ocaso – Yes, mister, until the sunset

Hermoso - Handsome

1


	7. Heartache Tonight

And the Devil Makes Five

Chapter 7 – Heartache Tonight

Bret looked down into the old well and scowled. They'd been digging for over a week and were so far down it was going to be impossible to go much further. And he was still trying to figure out how one man could have dug this out by himself. A thought eventually occurred to him – Rafael never said he buried the gold alone.

At the moment it was Bart down in the well. They'd had to take turns down there, digging out a bucket at a time and sending it back up, a slow process at best. Each turn lasted about twenty minutes; it was difficult to see and work under those conditions. Just as Bart was getting ready to come up, he hit something and yelled. Even Doc came scurrying over to the well to see just what his friend found.

Bart sat on his haunches and brushed the dirt away from something that looked like the lid of a chest or strongbox. It wouldn't open until it could be gotten out of the well so he went about digging down further to loose the ground's hold on the container. He was able to free the chest from the packed-in dirt, but there was a lock on the clasp; space in the well was too confined to get the lock open. Bart untied the rope from one of the buckets and knotted it around the chest, then the remaining Mavericks hauled it up to the top and pulled it out.

Beau worked on the lock with a pick and tried to get the chest open while Bret strained to help pull Bart out of the well by himself. Without warning a strange rumbling sound echoed across the desert landscape and the earth beneath their feet began to shake and buck – almost like a wild, untamed stallion. Bret made a grab for his brother, but the ground shook and rolled so violently that he found himself flat on his back while the unexpected earthquake played out.

Slowly the earth's shuddering decreased in intensity until it sank into small rumbles and Bret was able to get first to his knees and then his feet. Beau struggled to stand and ran for the well. The top lip had cracked and broken and the above ground edifice was full of fissures and crumbling structure. So much dirt and dust was coming up from the bottom that nothing else, including Bart, could be seen.

"Bart! Bart! Are you alright? Can you hear me?" Bret coughed and spit as his lungs were filled with the dirty air.

Beau covered his mouth with his arm and pointed through the slowly clearing dust clouds. "Down there, near the bottom," he directed his cousin's gaze. Sure enough, Bret could see patches of Bart's red shirt, mostly buried by piles of crumbled rock and soil.

"Bart!" he yelled again. Nothing at the bottom of the well was moving. Doc was there with them now, and the three men stared helplessly into the gloom of the collapsed well. Bret ran for the supplies and returned with a rope. "Hold onto this, I'm goin' down," he told Beau as he wrapped the other end of the rope around his waist. Beau did the same and braced himself to help hold Bret's weight as he climbed down inside what was left of the well they'd spent a week excavating. The descent was quick; the climb back up would not be.

He started digging his brother out. He used his hands for the most part, and the more he dug, the more hopeless it seemed. Bart was sprawled on the bottom of the well, face up, and was unconscious and not moving. Bret couldn't tell if his brother was breathing or not as he continued to fling debris frantically. At last he got enough dirt off to find Bart's wrist and feel for a pulse – it was weak and thready, but it was there.

"Bret? Is he alive?"

"He's breathin'. That's about all." Bret kept scooping dirt and crumbled adobe off Bart until he could finally pick him up and put his brother across his back. Bret battled for long minutes up the inside wall, unable to get a foothold and make any significant headway. He managed to change direction and fought to climb out with the added weight of an unconscious man on his shoulders. A small aftershock hit and he clung to the wall for dear life. Once it passed he renewed his efforts to make progress upward and finally got close enough to the top that Beau and Doc could get hold of Bart's wounded and battered body. Grabbing and clawing to get his cousin out of the darkness of the crumbling shaft, Beau at long last managed to get Bart back on firm ground. With Doc's help Bret soon followed.

Bret was correct; Bart was breathing but not much else. Dirty, bloody and bruised, still unconscious and with lungs filled with debris, there was little they could do to help. Bret pulled away from Doc's grasp and stumbled over to Bart's side. Beau had used one of the canteens to wet a handkerchief and was trying to wipe some of the grime and blood from his cousin's face. Bret instinctively felt again for his brothers' pulse; it was slow but steadier than it had been at first.

Once again Bret was worried about a head injury. Ever since the pistol-whipping in Montana that was always his first thought, and he had no way to determine what might have happened as Bart lost his hold and fell in the now virtually collapsed well. He paid particular attention to the web of cuts around Bart's hairline, worried more about a concussion than almost anything else. The small moan that escaped Bart's lips was a most welcome sound and Bret prayed it meant an upward move on his brother's part toward consciousness. Without turning back towards Doc he could hear the clatter of the pick tearing at the locked chest; _'good,'_ he thought, _'that gives Doc something productive to do.'_

Beau was talking softly to Bart as he continued to wipe off his cousin's face and neck, remembering all the time he and Bret and Jody had spent in one-sided conversations with the youngest Maverick in Montana. He was just as concerned as Bret; he'd heard the litany of all the abuse Bart had taken over the past three or four years and wondered at the fact that his cousin was as strong and healthy as he was. And now this. _'Why_ _not me, down in that well?'_ he thought. _'Why does misery seem to have it in for Bart?'_

Beau studied Bret and saw the concern etched on his face and the worry in his eyes. Bret had been momma and sometimes pappy to his younger brother since Bart was five years old; it would be a difficult habit to break if something actually claimed that life. He stopped what he was doing for a moment and reached out to rest his hand on Bret's shoulder. The oldest of the three gamblers never took his eyes off his brother, but a smile creased his lips and Beau knew the support he was offering was appreciated. It was impossible to imagine his life without both Maverick brothers in it. He gave a squeeze before letting go and Bret finally looked at him. There was more than just worry there; there was apprehension and unease, disquiet and fear. For Bart and Beau. For someone that seemed as happy-go-lucky as Bret Maverick, there was way more at play than he showed to the world.

The noise from the attempted lock-picker suddenly ceased and both Maverick's realized at the same moment that Doc had succeeded in opening the chest. What they were not prepared for was the gasp that went up from the usually taciturn gunfighter. He turned the strongbox to face the Mavericks and they understood his reaction – inside were the most beautiful perfectly matched set of gold and jewel-encrusted chalices either of them had ever seen.

XXXXXXXX

It was past dawn and Bart still hadn't regained consciousness. Bret and Beau agreed the best thing to do would be to get him back to camp where they could keep watch on him; the problem was how to get him there. It was decided that the preferred method was via wagon – somebody had to go into Santa Pietro and buy one. Beau volunteered, as he knew Bret would never leave Bart long enough to make the trip there and back, and it could take Doc three days before returning if he saw the cantina. Beau mounted his horse and rode out; in almost no time he was back in the small village.

He went straight to the general store, there was no doubt in his mind that he could get anything he wanted from Esteban. While he was making arrangements with the owner for the wagon and horses, Carmenita came in and asked about his two 'friends.' She'd seen him ride into town as if he was on fire and wondered what propelled him to such great haste.

"There was an accident, Señorita - un accidente – and my cousin was injured – injuriado – and we need a wagon to transport him."

"Bart or Bret?" Carmenita asked.

Beau shook his head in amazement. Obviously those two had made quite an impression on the young barmaid. "Bart," he answered.

' _Oh no,_ ' she thought, _'the dancing eyes!'_ "He is gravemente herido?"

"We aren't sure," he told her as he paid Esteban for the purchase.

"Who takes care of?"

"We do," came his reply.

Carmenita shook her head and black curls fell everywhere. "No." She grabbed Beau's hand and marched next door to the cantina, dragging the reluctant Texan with the English accent behind her. After a long Spanish filled string of conversation with the bartender, Carmenita led Beau back outside. There, as arranged, sat the wagon and horses. The barmaid let go of Beau's hand and pointed at his horse. "Ride. I drive wagon."

Without further argument Beau mounted his horse and set off, back towards the spot where he'd left everyone. Carmenita drove the wagon like a crazy woman and they were back at the well in short order. Bret looked up from his brother's side and was astonished to see the petite barmaid jump down from the wagon's seat.

Beau shrugged his shoulders. "Never argue with a woman," he offered.

Bret shook his head. "You don't know that by now?"

Carmenita came over and crouched down by Bart, gently laying a hand on his forehead. She took in the bruises and cuts on his handsome face and looked over at Bret. "Not siesta."

"No, Carmenita, not a siesta. Inconsciente." He didn't try to explain what had caused the unconsciousness.

Doc, who had been napping with his hat low on his face, was awake as soon as he heard the female voice. They'd been holding out on him. No wonder the eagerness to go to Santa Pietro. The only question Doc had was why hadn't somebody told him?

The chalices had been left in the strongbox and the lid was closed. Beau picked it up and put it in the wagon bed, hoping to get Bart loaded in next. Bret and Carmenita were still talking about Bart and Doc was now awake and mobile. Beau crossed the desert sands to stand behind the girl; she was shaking her head 'no.' "Cousin Bret?"

Bret looked up at him. "Yep, let's get him in the wagon. She insists on coming back with us. Hitch my horse up to the back, I saw her tearing through the desert to get here. I'll drive. She can sit in the wagon with Bart."

Beau nodded. "Okay. Let me move the . . . . uh . . . . things under the seat."

"Good idea. Doc, a little help here?"

Doc hurried over to the young woman. He tipped his hat and offered his arm to her, which she took. "Señorita, my name is Doc."

"Doctor?" she repeated.

"No, just Doc." He walked her towards the wagon as Beau hurried back to help Bret pick up the still-unconscious Bart and load him in. Once that was accomplished Doc helped Carmenita up into the back, where she sat on the bed of the wagon and tended to Bart. Doc grabbed his horse and mounted, as did Beau, and Bret slapped the reins. The strange procession started, and much slower than it had arrived, the wagon and riders made their way south across the barren desert.

Gravement herido – Seriously wounded

Inconsciente - Unconscious

1


	8. The Devil Gives Chase

And the Devil Makes Five

Chapter 8 – The Devil Gives Chase

They were almost back to camp when Bret heard a moan that he recognized. He pulled the horses up and whistled at Beau, who came riding back. "Tie your horse and take the reins, would ya? I think he's wakin' up."

Bret climbed into the back and sat next to Carmenita. He leaned over Bart and waited for an indication his brother was conscious. He soon got it, in the form of another low moan followed by a murmured question – "What happened?"

"Bart, can you hear me?" A long, quiet break.

Then, another muffled question. "Bret?"

"Yeah, Bart, it's me. Don't say anything, we've got company."

Bret looked at Carmenita and she responded. "Señor Bart?"

His eyes slowly opened and he whispered, "Carmenita?"

"Si, Señor. ¿Como se siente?"

"Awful." His eyes closed again, but he asked "Where are we?"

Bret answered him this time. "Almost back in camp. What hurts?"

The reply was murmured very quietly. "Everything."

"What's the worst? Anything broke?"

"Don't . . . . . think so. I fell?"

"Yeah," Bret told him. "There was an earthquake."

Bart's chuckle turned into a moan. "An earthquake?"

"Yeah. Then you fell." Bret couldn't help but smile, it sounded bizarre to him, too.

"And Carmenita?"

"Beau rode to Santa Pietro to buy a wagon. Our little barmaid saw him and insisted on coming back to take care of you."

"Me?"

"Yeah, that was my question, too. But that's what she said."

"Wait – a wagon?"

"What were we supposed to do – throw you over your horse?"

"You sure you didn't?"

"I'm sure." The wagon stopped moving as Beau pulled into camp. "Can you sit up?"

"Don't know. A little help?"

Bret grabbed Bart's hands and helped pull him into a sitting position. Bart groaned and reached for his ribs; he hurt everywhere, but his ribs felt like he'd been kicked again.

"Hurts?"

"Yeah, it hurts. Don't know if I can stand."

Doc rode up alongside the wagon. "Done sleeping?"

"For now," Bart answered.

"Nice little secret you boys kept," Doc said, indicating Carmenita.

Bart just smiled. With all the cuts, scratches and bruises on his face, even that hurt.

Beau tied the horses to the rope line and got down from the seat of the wagon. "Need some help here?" he asked Bart.

"Think so."

Bret moved back in front of his brother. "C'mon. Grab my hands. I'll get you up." He reached down and helped pull Bart to his feet; as he did so, Beau moved to the back of the wagon and opened it up. Bret stayed in front of his brother, just in case, and it was a good thing he did. Bart might have been on his feet, but he was unsteady and sore from head to foot. He tried to take a step and faltered, as he attempted another his knees buckled and he plunged forward. Bret had anticipated just that and caught him before he could fall. "Steady there, son," Bret told him, and between him, Beau and Carmenita they got him shakily down on the ground.

Bart grabbed Bret's arms and held on. "I gotta . . . . Bret, the world's spinnin'. Gotta lie down." With Bret on one side and Beau on the other, they walked him cautiously to the makeshift bed Carmenita had hastily assembled and helped him down. Once prone he closed his eyes and Carmenita started asking him questions in Spanish. She sat with Bart and took the canteen of water that Beau provided, wetting the handkerchief he gave her and laying it across Bart's forehead. "Gracias, Carmenita," he murmured, and the men left Bart temporarily in her hands. Beau started a new fire and Bret made a pot of coffee, while Doc leaned against a boulder and took a drink from his flask.

"We haven't talked about. . . . . . Bart's find," Doc started. "That may be all we can recover, the way the well collapsed."

"Unless we want to spend another week digging," Beau added.

"With only two of us able to dig now?" Bret asked. "More like another month digging."

"Do we need to go back? Do you have any idea what those things are worth?" This came from Doc.

"Remember – one of them belongs to Rafael." Bret was determined to abide by the promise he'd made.

Doc shot Bret a look. "You would be an honorable s.o.b., wouldn't you?"

"After a fashion, Doc. But you already knew that."

A grunt from the gunslinger. "I must be delusional. I keep hoping I'll run across a Maverick with some common sense."

Beau finally spoke up. "We should go back just to see if we can get to anything else."

"Agreed. Doc?"

"Why not? Sure won't hurt any plans I've got."

"Tonight."

XXXXXXXX

"Carmenita, permítanme que les lleve a su casa. Estoy bien." Bart wasn't very convincing, telling Carmenita while lying down with his eyes closed. Every time he tried to sit up the world went sideways; best to just lay there with eyes shut for the time being.

Carmenita's answer was succinct. "No." She could tell he wasn't fine. He was pale and sweaty, and his breathing was erratic, at best. Twice she'd gotten too close to his chest and when she brushed up against him he winced; whatever 'accident' had reduced him to this condition was far from minor. "Descansar y dormer, Señor Bart. No estoy dejando."

He sighed and it hurt. He remembered the rumble that started in the earth below him, then being flung like a rag doll across the well, dropping from near the top to the bottom, then – nothing. During his descent he'd been bounced off the hard-packed dirt walls again and again, until practically every inch of his body was bruised and battered, worked over as only Mother Nature posing as a thug could manage.

He was grateful for the ministrations of the lovely barmaid, but the last thing this group needed was one more person that knew about the treasure they'd finally unearthed. There were already too many – _'Bret,_ _Beau, Doc, me, and the devil makes five,'_ he thought. He had no doubt that the devil was indeed part of the group.

The next time he was awake was late afternoon. Every part of his body that hadn't hurt when he fell asleep hurt now. He opened his eyes cautiously and was pleased to find that the world no longer slid sideways. Carmenita wasn't sitting next to him and he didn't hear her voice; maybe someone had taken her back to Santa Pietro. When he finally tried to sit up it was painful but not unsettling, and he soon located the barmaid sitting next to the fire talking quietly to Doc, of all people. Bart cleared his throat and both of them turned towards the sound; as soon as Carmenita saw him she jumped to her feet and hurried over. Doc tipped his hat, smiled and went back to his flask.

"Señor Bart, ¿se siente mejor?"

"Si, Carmenita. Where are Bret and Beau?"

She shrugged. Maybe they hadn't told her. He looked back to the fire. "Doc? Where'd the boys go?"

Doc answered lazily "Hunting."

That still left a question in Bart's mind. Food or Banditos? Or maybe something else? It would be twilight before long, if they were going back to the well tonight, they'd have to return to camp soon. Carmenita reached out a hand to feel Bart's forehead; this time his temperature seemed entirely reasonable. He flinched when she touched him; even his forehead was sore.

The sound of approaching riders made Bart turn just in time to see Bret and Beau coming over the ridge, riding like the hounds of hell were after them. Three Banditos had given chase and were using the Mavericks as target practice. Both were running for their lives, without having time to draw their own weapons and return fire. Bart struggled to his feet and forced himself to run for his horse and rifle. Doc was already up and taking aim at the first rider in the pursuit group. He fired and missed while Bart aimed and shot, taking down the second of the three outlaws. Doc shot again and the first man fell. The third, seeing his two compatriots down, slowed his mount and headed back in the direction he'd come from.

The Mavericks rode into camp, and even from that distance Bart could see the bloodstain on Beau's sleeve. He replaced the rifle in its scabbard on the saddle and sagged back against his horse, grabbing for his ribs and feeling grateful to the horse for supporting his weight. Carmenita ran to Beau as he climbed down from his mount and began examining the gunshot wound. Bret tipped his hat to Doc, who went right back to drinking.

"You hit?" Bart asked his older brother.

"Nope," came the answer. "Thanks for the save." Then he saw the look on his brother's face and hurried over to help Bart remain upright as the horse shifted its weight and caused him to lose his balance.

"What was that all about?" Bart questioned as he tried to regain his equilibrium. He was no longer dizzy, but his body was so badly beaten up from the drop down the well that he was having trouble standing. Bret helped him over to the fire, near Doc, as he explained.

"We were headed out to the well when they came outta nowhere, riding like their life depended on it. When they got close enough, they started shootin'. Don't know why. We turned tail and ran. They caught Beau in the arm and just missed me. If you hadn't been here . . . . . . "

"Sorry," Doc said. "Shoulda hit the guy the first time. I had a long talk with my Colt about missing the shot."

Beau, with a freshly bandaged arm courtesy of Carmenita, joined the group. "I think we better get Carmenita back to Santa Pietro and get out of here. They must know we found something and they want to know what it is."

"I agree with Beau," Doc added. "They were after you for a reason. Most likely they found . . . . . where we were."

"I want to take one more look," Bart interrupted.

"It's too dangerous now. Beau's right, we need to get out of here."

"Then I'll go alone."

Bret sighed. When was the last time someone had called Bart stubborn and he'd laughed at them? They had no idea. "Alright, but we break camp first. Doc and Beau can take Carmenita back to Santa Pietro, we can meet them there. Then back to Nuevo Laredo and across the border. Agreed?"

Three heads nodded. Bret breathed a sigh of relief.

¿Como se siente? – How do you feel?

Permítanme que les lleve a su casa. Estoy bien. – Let them take you home. I'm fine.

Descansar y dormer – Rest and sleep

No estoy dejando – I am not leaving

¿Se siente mejor? – Do you feel better?


	9. Banditos, Federales, and Gold, Oh My

And the Devil Makes Five

Chapter 9 – Banditos, Federales, and Gold, Oh My

It didn't take long to break camp. Doc and Beau tied their horses to the back of the wagon; Beau let Doc take the reins and he sat in the back, so Carmenita could sit up front. The strongbox with the gold chalices remained under the seat, out of sight. Before she climbed up into the seat, Carmenita stood on tiptoe and kissed the man with the dancing eyes, and he kissed her back.

"Gracias, Señorita. Ser seguro." Bart helped her up into the wagon and Doc started for Santa Pietro. Bart mounted his horse, a lot more carefully than he had when he swung up bareback and joined Bret on the last trip to the well. His body ached with every step the horse took, but he wasn't about to say anything to his brother. He kept thinking about all the things they'd encountered on this 'treasure hunt' – Federales, a lifeless town, an abandoned well, golden goblets, an unexpected earthquake, a Mexican angel-of-mercy, and three different gangs of Banditos. And something told him it wasn't over.

He rode behind his brother so Bret wouldn't see the pain on his face when he flinched. He'd always liked watching his brother ride – so tall and straight in the saddle, not the way he'd ridden when they were kids, flinging himself on and off horseback with wild abandon. Now he rode more like Bret, understanding the dynamics of sitting on a horse for long hours at a time.

Without warning Bret's mount came to a dead stop, and a glance up ahead explained why the sudden halt. A long line of Federales was riding north of them, headed towards Nuevo Laredo. Their lines were sharp and precise and looked more like Army troops than Mexican police but the uniform said 'Policía Federal.' Bart wondered what they were doing all the way out here, in the middle of the Coahuila Desert. He was sure Bret was puzzling over the same question.

His brother turned to face him, twisting in the saddle. "Wonder what they've been up to." He watched the long police line for a few moments more and then swiveled back around to Bart. "Let's see where they go." The Federales kept riding, continuing northeast, now more toward Piedras Negras. Bart brought his horse up even with Bret's and the brothers watched the march continue away from them, with both of them breathing a sigh of relief when the procession finally rode out of sight. They continued their journey side by side, Bart doing his best to ignore the aches that came from bouncing off well walls.

They were soon at the dig site, and both were surprised to discover the area apparently undisturbed. Bart dismounted and approached the decimated well cautiously, almost expecting the earth to resume its violent shaking. Bret was right behind him and grabbed his shoulder as they reached the lip of the well. "You alright?" he asked.

"Yeah," came the reply. "Don't really wanna go back down there. I just keep thinkin' there was somethin' underneath the chest." He looked down into the chaos they'd spent a week digging out. "Think it's worth a look?"

Bret's gaze followed his brother's. "Maybe. If I can get down there."

"You can't go down there, I have to," Bart was adamant about that fact.

"You? You almost got killed down there." The picture of Bart lying underneath all that dirt and broken adobe flashed through Bret's mind. There was no way in hell he was going to agree to Bart making another trip to the bottom. And then his brother changed his mind with the near perfect argument.

"And what happens if you get stuck down there and need help? I can't haul you back up here by myself. But you can get me up. C'mon, you know I'm right."

Bret didn't answer, just walked back to the supplies and got another rope. Bart tied it around his waist and sat on the edge of the well in the one spot where the entire wall had crumbled into nothing. Most of the ruptures and crevices that afforded them a foothold on previous trips down were still useable; the rope merely provided an extra measure of security. Bart took his time and worked his way down the well carefully; when he reached the bottom, he was fortunate to find the shovel he'd used previously.

"Take it easy down there," Bret offered, even though it was obvious that's just what Bart was doing.

"Thanks, Pappy," the younger brother responded. He spent the first few minutes removing the crumbled dirt from the spot where he'd found the chest; then he was finally able to start digging anew. That went slower than he would have liked due to the pain a thoroughly bruised body provided. A dozen shovels full of dirt later and Bart could feel the end of the shovel strike something.

This wasn't solid, the way the chest felt, and Bart finally put the tool down and dug with his hands. Slowly he pulled out a long gold chain, with a jewel-encrusted gold crucifix attached to the end. It was dirty and caked with mud, and appeared to have been dropped into the ground; whether deliberately or accidentally was impossible to determine. He brushed off as much debris as possible and held it up in the light for Bret to see. His brother let out a long whistle and then abruptly barked, "Bart, hide it and get up here. Somebody's comin'."

In his pocket it went, and he did his best to scramble back up the wall as quickly as possible, given the pain he was in and the help he needed. He crawled out carefully and was still on the ground trying to recover his equilibrium when the shooting started. Two unexpected banditos bearing down on them from the east, firing their pistols wildly as they came. Bart scrambled to his feet and Bret sprinted with him to the ruined shack, seeking what little shelter they could find. Bullets shrieked past and embedded themselves in the crumbling adobe, but the horsemen were riding too wildly to be accurate with their weapons. One of Bart's shots hit the lead rider, and he screamed in pain and grabbed at his leg.

Another bullet from one of their pistols took down the horse of the second bandit and he rolled off into the sand as the animal fell. The first rider circled back around and picked his compadre up, the two now riding double and heading rapidly back the way they'd come. Bret straightened his hat on his head and let out a long, deep breath. "Don't know where that came from."

Bart holstered his gun. "Don't care. Let's get out of here before they come back with friends."

"Yeah, time to go," was the answer he got.

They scrambled back to their horses and mounted, abandoning the effort to unearth more buried riches. Whatever else Rafael had managed to secret deep inside the earth would have to stay there until someone else found it. The Maverick brothers had enough of being shot at for one day.

XXXXXXXX

Beau tipped his chair back and his coffee cup up as he sat in the cantina and waited for his cousin's arrival. Doc was already halfway through the bottle of whiskey he'd started on but was in a relatively good mood – for Doc Holliday. Carmenita had taken over as barmaid and made sure that Beau had fresh coffee and Doc had a clean glass.

"How long have you known Cousin Bart?" Doc wasn't the most talkative soul in the world and Beau discovered the only way to keep him engaged in conversation was to pepper him with questions.

"Four or five years," Holliday answered as Carmenita filled his glass. "Since we were both wet behind the ears."

"Poker game?"

"Yeah – in Dodge. That was the first time we played. Then a few months later in Tombstone. He drove me crazy."

"Why, Doc?" Beau couldn't imagine Bart driving anyone crazy, much less Doc Holliday. Not as long as he was playing poker. Away from the tables – Bart was stubborn, opinionated, loyal, charming, wickedly funny and drew women like flies to honey.

"He was too damn good. No matter what I did, he countered. AND didn't cheat to try and beat me. Had the best stories I'd ever heard. That whole 'Pappy' business – hysterical."

"Doc, 'Pappy' is real. Course he's Uncle Beau to me. But no matter what Cousin Bart told you 'Pappy' said or did – it's all true. Uncle Beau is quite a character. If you're ever back in Louisiana, you ought to look him up."

"Dear God – no wonder they're both such a mess! What about you? You got a 'Pappy' of your own?"

Beau laughed at that one. "My father is 'Pappy's' younger brother. Nowhere near as flamboyant as Uncle Beau. Nor as much of a scoundrel. But a gambler, just the same. It seems to be the family profession."

"How'd you end up in England?" Doc lit another cigar and took another drink.

"I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and won a medal for it. Uncle Beau banished me for 'conduct unbecoming a Maverick.' Like I'd done it deliberately. I'm still the white sheep of the family."

Doc almost spit out his drink, he laughed so hard. "Well, I will say one thing. You boys sure are a colorful bunch. Just not sure what color."

Beau grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, I've been trying to live that down ever since."

"Why'd you get married? Doesn't seem like a real 'Maverick' thing to me." Doc was curious what drove a man, especially one with as rich a family history of non-committal as the Mavericks, to finally marry and settle down with one woman.

"I love her," came the swift reply. "Didn't want to spend one more day without her. Simple as that." They sat together for a time, Beau drinking coffee and Doc drinking whiskey. Finally Beau spoke again. "Bart was married, you know."

Doc nodded sagely. "He told me. It was a payoff for a debt."

"Yeah, it was. But he'd have stayed if she'd lived."

"And I'd still be pulling teeth regularly if I didn't have this damn cough. We all deal with the hand we're dealt. And then we move on or die." Doc laughed, finally, a signal that the subject was about to change. "Surprised you and the brothers are so close. You don't seem much like 'em." He laughed again. "You appear to be cursed with common sense. That's what I like about Bart. He may have it, but he likes to ignore it."

"Yep, sometimes you're right. But don't be fooled by that. You'll never find anybody more loyal to his friends and family."

Doc thought about some of the escapades he and Bart had gotten into. Beau was right about Bart's loyalty; he'd proven it more than once. Before Doc could say anything more, Bart walked through the front door of the cantina, followed closely by his brother. They sat at the table and Carmenita brought two more cups and a fresh pot of coffee. Both looked worn out.

"Find anything?" Doc asked

"Yeah, a couple more bandits and a whole slew of Federales," Bret told them.

"Federales? Way out here?"

"By the uh . . . . . site. Headed for Piedras Negras. Don't know where the banditos came from." Bart caught Carmenita's eye and smiled at her. She blushed.

"What about the outlaws?" Beau asked.

"They weren't movin' real fast the last time we saw 'em." Bret explained the incident with the two banditos. "Think we better head back to Nuevo Laredo."

"Are we taking the wagon?" Beau inquired.

"Naw, I'll see if Esteban will buy it back. Maybe trade for supplies. Carmenita, is there any place we can sleep tonight?" Bret rose from the table to go next door to see Esteban.

"Si, Señor Bret. Usted puede quedarse en mi casa. Mi familia no está aquí ahora."

Bart was the one who answered her. "Gracias, Carmenita."

Bret left to see Esteban. Doc shook his head. "Bart Maverick strikes again."

"What are you talkin' about, Doc?"

Doc inclined his head towards the bar. "You and Conchita. Carmenita. Whatever."

Bart shook his head. "Nope, Doc. Nothin' goin' on there."

Doc nodded wisely. "We'll see. We'll see who sleeps where tonight."

Bart shook his head again. "You're delusional, Doc. All I want is some sleep in a real bed. By myself."

Ser seguro – Be safe

Usted puede quedarse en mi casa – You can stay at my house.

Mi familia no está aquí ahor. – My family is not here right now.


	10. Listen to Your Heart

And the Devil Makes Five

Chapter 10 – Listen to Your Heart

The house was surprisingly big for a poor Mexican village. Three actual bedrooms with real beds. Carmenita explained to her new friends that the family consisted of her mother and father, two grandmothers and a grandfather, and three younger brothers and sisters. They'd gone to the town her mother was born in to visit relatives that might be able to give her father a job. They wouldn't be back for three more days, and Carmenita had the place to herself while they were gone.

No one had slept in over twenty-four hours. Beau and Doc found a bedroom and decided they could sleep in the same room with no problem; they'd been lying next to each other for more than a week. Bret and Bart took the other bedroom, and both headed for the bed. Carmenita stopped Bart just before he closed the door and took his hand, leading him away from that room and towards the third bedroom, her room. He paused in the doorway. "Carmenita, I – " was as far as he got before she stood on tiptoe again and kissed him.

She leaned into him and pressed up against him, and she was warm and soft – and every square inch of his body still hurt from the unexpected trip down the well. He put his hands on her shoulders and moved her back away from him. "Carmenita, I can't do this. No puedo hacer esto. Hay demasiado dolor."

She squirmed out of his grasp and pressed against him again, then put her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers. It was too much for him, and he kissed her and groaned, caught somewhere between pleasure and pain. She wrapped her fingers in his hair and kissed him hungrily, almost challenging him to let go of her. He couldn't.

He picked her up and carried her to the bed, and as he laid her down she reached for him and it wasn't Carmenita that he saw. It was another woman with brown and gold hair – and violet eyes – and suddenly it all came rushing back to him – Millie Ridgeway, and his love for her, and his intention to marry her. He let go of Carmenita like she was on fire and backed out of the room, running from the house and into the night. At the rear of the shelter he fell to his knees and let out a howl like a wounded animal, as the reality of what he'd walked away from slammed him right between the eyes. He dropped his head and retched, vomiting his insides and all the coffee within him out onto the hard earth.

It was over as fast as it came, and by the time his brother found him he had nothing left inside him, physically or emotionally. Tears stood in his eyes and threatened to spill onto the earth as he looked at Bret, knowing what he'd left behind when he quit Cheyenne. His brother dropped to the ground and embraced him, and held Bart as he sobbed for what he'd lost – Caroline and Rose and Millie, just the latest in a string of women he couldn't or wouldn't hold onto.

If Beau or Doc heard, they pretended not to. Bret held him and rocked him like he had when Bart was small and had a nightmare, until the terror was past and they could both sleep.

When Bart woke, he remembered everything from the night before – and the weeks past. He was the last one up – probably because he'd been the last to sleep. He got out of bed warily and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't dreamt it, but he wished he had. There was a knock on the door and Bret entered – with a cup of coffee. "Morning, sleepyhead. How ya feel this morning?"

Bart sat up and held his head in his hands. "I've felt better." He let go of his head with his right hand and reached out to take the coffee. It tasted bitter, and he wondered how much was the coffee and how much was the taste left from last night. "Carmenita here?"

Bret shook his head. "Nope. She went to the cantina already."

"At this time of the morning?"

"I don't think she wanted to see you any more than you wanted to see her."

Bart ran his hand through his hair. "I have to talk to her, Bret. To explain. I owe her that much."

"You don't owe her anything, Bart."

"Last night – "

"Last night is over and done with. Let it go."

"Like you did with Marybeth?"

Bret looked at his brother. That one hurt, even though Bart hadn't intended it to. "Just like that."

"How am I supposed to do that? I remembered, Bret. I remembered about Millie."

Bret stood there and stayed silent for a minute while Bart got more of the coffee in him. Then he finally asked, "What are you gonna do about it?"

The answer was swift and final. "Nothing."

"Then there's no reason to hold on to it."

For once, Bret made sense. What was the use of torturing himself? It was over and done. It was too late to go back, even if he could. He stood up, a new sensation of resolve in his heart. "Brother Bret, let's get out of here."

XXXXXXXX

The little caravan, four horsemen and a fifth pack animal, set out from Santa Pietro that morning. The goblets had been wrapped in shirts and stored separately – one in Bret's saddlebag, one in Beau's – the gold chain and cross was still in Bart's pocket. He hadn't told anyone about the late find, and he assumed Bret hadn't either. It would be a nice surprise when they discerned a way to dispose of the chalices.

They headed for Piedras Negras first, to see if they could learn something about the value of their discovery before attempting to do anything with it. Little was said as they rode; especially about last night. Not even any pointed remarks by Doc; the man he and Beau heard cry out last night was a man in agony, and they knew it. Bart appeared to be alright this morning, but none of the other three was willing to test the fragile peace that seemed to have taken hold of him.

They rode until the day became too hot to go any longer, then found what shade they could and took refuge until twilight. Bart dozed on and off, his thoughts bouncing between total calm and absolute turmoil. He knew the decision not to attempt any kind of reconciliation with Millie was the right one; still he agonized over it until his mind had enough and shut his emotions down completely. Finally he slept, without dreams or guilt, and woke just as it was getting dark. His horse was saddled and ready; Bret had seen to that and let him sleep as long as possible.

The next leg of the journey began, in silence and in the dark, across the nighttime desert. There was barely enough moonlight to see by; it was not only cooler but safer this way. The Federales didn't patrol the desert at night, and the banditos didn't carry out unexpected raids. And in the dark of night Bart didn't have to pretend to any of the three men he rode with that he was all right. Doc and Beau chatted in the darkness, about nothing important, and on occasion Bret offered a comment or two. Bart rode and didn't care that he wasn't included in the conversation; actually never even noticed it. He just rode.

Bret kept a watchful eye on his brother, not knowing what to expect. Last night was nearly the worst he'd ever seen Bart, almost as bad as the morning he'd walked out of a Montana jail cell some months ago, absolutely shattered. The episode last night – for that's truly what it was, an episode - was a different kind of pain than the night in Montana – this was an emotional pain, rather than a mental one. Bret had no doubt that Bart would get over this, but it would require a struggle. Bret would be with him every step of the way, doing all in his power to help ease the burden. So far Bart had shown no sign that he resented Bret for not telling him about his forgotten love for the Ridgeway girl – and the older brother prayed fervently it would stay that way.

Dawn came again. One more night of riding and they would be in Piedras Negras. There was a small monastery in the town that might be able to provide information on the chalices or the chain and cross, without alerting authorities that the treasures had been found. At least that was the hope of the three men that were thinking about the plundered valuables. The fourth tried to think of nothing, and sometimes he was successful.

Once they'd camped for the day, Beau finally had a chance to talk to his cousin. "Is he gonna be alright?" was the first thing out of Beau's mouth.

"I think so," came Bret's reply. "It's got to do with Millie Ridgeway."

"I should have known," Beau stated. "A woman. He can always tie himself up in knots over a woman."

Bret snorted. "Look who's talking."

"Yeah, but I don't fall head-over-heels in love and then leave 'em."

"It wasn't his fault, Beau. When he was poisoned he lost a lot of his memories. The Ridgeway girl was one of 'em."

"You knew? Why didn't you tell him?"

Bret hesitated. How much to explain to Beau? Five years ago he wouldn't have given it a second thought; he would have shared everything with 'brother number three.' But this wasn't five years ago, it was now, and all their relationships were different. "He knew he was missing things. I asked him if he wanted me to tell him, and he said no."

"How serious was it, Bret?"

Again, that hesitation. Finally, "He was gonna marry her, Beau."

A long, low whistle. "That's like holdin' on to a stick of dynamite after you light it."

"Yeah, don't I know it."

Now things began to make more sense. "And last night?"

A slight shake of the head. "He remembered."

"Is he still talkin' to you?" Beau had to ask the question – there was pain in Bret's eyes that needed explaining.

"So far. Hope it stays that way." There was an undercurrent of desperation in Bret's voice that worried his cousin. There would be no living around either one of them if they were estranged again. And Beau had the foreboding feeling he was going to need both of them around him in the coming days.

"I take it what triggered all this was – "

"Carmenita. Yeah. Doc was right, she had a hankerin' for our brother."

Beau was encouraged when Bret said 'our' brother. He'd felt the distance between them and didn't like it. Using the old familiarity reassured him about their unbreakable bond. He felt like part of the family again, something he'd been missing.

Just then Doc moseyed over. "Coffee's about done," he offered. It was obvious they'd been talking about Bart, and Doc was concerned. This had started out as a pleasant little jaunt, a nice diversion from the ordinary and had turned into something a lot more unsettling. Especially since it was obvious that the minor flirtation between his friend and the Mexican beauty had become something more serious last night. "Anything I can help with?"

"Yeah, Doc, there is," Bret answered quickly. "See if you can get Bart to talk, would ya?"

"What about?" Doc wanted to be sure he avoided any off-limit subjects.

"Anything. Anything at all."

No puedo hacer esto. Hay demasiado dolor – I can't do this. There is too much pain.


	11. The Doctor Is Out

And the Devil Makes Five

Chapter 11 – The Doctor Is . . . . Out

Piedras Negras brought a better frame of mind, if not a more accepting heart. They rode into town, the curious looking bunch of them, and found the only hotel available. The first order of business for all three Mavericks was a bath – for Doc it was a drink. Clean clothes and a decent supper soon followed. It was the first meal in weeks that consisted of something other than rabbit and beans.

Bret and Bart went to the monastery to talk to the monks and see what could be learned about the chalices. The monks had no information they were willing to share and the Mavericks were advised to seek out the Franciscans in Laredo proper. An hour later they were all sitting in the cantina next to the hotel when a Federale Captain and two of his men came in, apparently looking for the Americanos. He went straight to their table and shifted his gaze from one to the other, finally settling on Bret to deal with directly.

"Señor, the Anglican monks from the monastery have come to us complaining that someone from your group has disturbed them greatly with questions about buried treasure. I assume it is you and your . . . friends?"

"My family, Captain," Bret stated forcefully. "And we only asked the monks if they had any information about the treasure that was buried in the abandoned monastery. I'm sorry if they were upset – that certainly wasn't our intent. We understand now that they're not associated with the old legends."

The Captain looked skeptical as he turned his attention to Doc. "You are not this man's family, sir? Are you, Doctor Holliday?"

"Actually, he is," Bret answered before Doc could. "He's my sister's brother-in-law once removed."

"I'm what?" Doc asked.

"A family friend," Beau interjected.

"And you are here with these . . . . . uh, gentlemen?" the Captain persisted.

"These three reprobates?" Doc asked innocently.

"Uh . . . . yes."

Doc sighed dramatically. "Yes, I suppose so."

"You are also interested in the lost treasure?"

"Treasure?" Doc feigned ignorance. "The only treasure I'm interested in would be this, Captain," and he held his glass up to the light.

"Hmmm. You will be responsible for him, eh? No killing in Nuevo Laredo." The Captain looked directly at Bret, expecting him to be Doc's keeper.

"I will be, Captain," Bret answered solemnly.

The Federale turned and strode out the door, with his two minions following right behind. Bret looked over at Doc and wagged his finger at the gunslinger. "You behave yourself, you hear me? No killing on this side of the border." Bret, Beau, and Doc burst into fits of laughter. It had been a long, hard, two-week period and they were due some relaxation and enjoyment.

Bart didn't say anything, just grabbed the barmaid and ordered a drink. Bret was startled and caught off-guard, he hadn't been expecting that. His brother was so quiet it was easy to forget the hell he'd been through less than forty-eight hours ago.

" - do you, Bret?" he only caught the end of what Beau asked him.

"What?"

"I don't see any reason why we shouldn't go on to Laredo tomorrow, do you?" Beau repeated.

"Uh, yeah, I think we need to go back to the abandoned monastery tomorrow, just to give the Federales something to think about besides our questions. Let 'em believe we're gonna go diggin'." The reasoning was sound, and Beau and Doc agreed.

Bart's drink came and he didn't dawdle; he'd spent too much time around Doc and downed what was in the glass. He signaled the barmaid and she brought him another. He finally added his voice to the agreement to go 'treasure hunting' for the benefit of the Federales. The talk descended into a discussion of leading the law astray on one wild-goose chase after another and the next time Bret noticed Bart's glass it was empty again. Bret sighed, exasperated. Bart had done this one other time when they were about to go off to fight in a war they didn't believe in, and it had almost cost him his life.

"We goin' in the morning?" Beau asked as he yawned.

"Yeah, let's get it over with," Doc added.

"Sure, after breakfast. Sounds reasonable."

Beau stood up and stretched. "Then I'm goin' to bed. Anybody else comin'? Doc?"

"Yeah, why not, it'll be a new experience," Holliday volunteered and laughed at his own joke. He got up and threw a bill on the table. "You boys behave now, you hear?"

Beau and Doc walked out the door and Bret watched them go. "Aren't you goin' with 'em?' Bart asked his brother.

"Do you want me to?"

A long silence, and then a solemn, "No."

"Somethin' on your mind, Bart?" Bret knew very well what was bothering his brother, but it was up to Bart to decide if they were going to discuss it or not.

"Why, Bret? Why'd it happen?"

That wasn't the question Bret expected. And he didn't have a really helpful answer. "Don't know, Bart. Maybe it was just supposed to happen that way. It wasn't your fault, you know."

Bart looked at his brother but was having trouble focusing. He'd only had two drinks, why did he feel like somebody had pulled the world out from underneath him? "Not my - no, you're right. Some damn fool thought a poker game was more important than a life and it cost me Millie. Say, Bret, sit still, would ya?" Bret wasn't moving, but he could see from the look in his brother's eyes that whatever he'd been drinking was really hitting him hard. He picked up Bart's empty glass and smelled it – whiskey, and a strong whiff of something else – tequila, and the smell was almost overpowering. Bart might have only had two drinks, but they were tequila backed whiskey.

"What'd you order, Bart?"

"Huh? Whiskey, what else?"

Bret looked dubiously at his brother. "No tequila?"

"Tequila? That rotgut? Nope, not me. Straight whiskey." He picked up his glass and attempted to take another drink from it; it was empty and he tried to put it down. "Who told you tequila?"

Bret finally took the glass from his brother and set it on the table. "I smelled it, Bart. Somebody was tryin' to get you drunk." He looked around the cantina. There was only one other American in sight, a grizzled old man sitting in the corner. He gave his brother another look; it appeared they'd succeeded. "C'mon, let's get you to bed." He stood and tried to help Bart up - the first attempt ended in failure. He got his hands under Bart's arms and hauled him to his feet; whether he'd be able to keep him there or not was another matter. He picked Bart's hat up off the table and set it on his head, then took him by the elbow and tried to guide him across the room. Bart stumbled and staggered, leaning heavily on his brother for support.

They got through the cantina doors and out onto the short sidewalk to the hotel. Bret could feel his brother tense up and he knew what was coming. Bart dropped quickly to his hands and knees and threw up violently into the street. Much as Bret hated to admit it, that was probably the best thing; get the 'rotgut' and the whiskey out of his system as fast as possible. He held his brother by the shoulders and felt his body tense again, followed swiftly by a second round of vomiting. Once it became evident that was over, for the moment at least, Bret pulled his handkerchief out and wiped his brother's face and mouth, and got him once again to his feet.

They made it up the stairs to their shared room without further incident. Bret sat Bart down on the edge of the bed and got his buckskin jacket off before he collapsed unceremoniously onto the mattress. No sense trying to get the shirt off, Bart was passed out at this point. Take off the boots and swing his legs up on the bed, then cover him up and hope all the poison was out of his system.

Bret straightened and took his own jacket and vest off, slowly the boots followed. He decided it was better to sleep in the bed than on the floor; at least if Bart needed him sometime during the night, he'd be close. He crossed to the window and opened it to let air in the room, then came back to the bed and got in on the other side. He'd only been down for two or three minutes when Bart moaned, and Bret reached out a hand and rubbed the back of his brother's head, the way he had when they were kids and Bart was dreaming. Bret's touch seemed to calm him, and soon they were both asleep.

XXXXXXXX

It was morning, but still early. The air coming through the window was cool, which meant the sun hadn't been up long. Bret started to roll over before realizing he was alone in the bed. He turned over, startled to find his brother gone, not only from the bed but the entire room. He looked at the chair next to the bed; Bart's jacket was still there, but his hat and gun belt were gone. Bret breathed a sigh of relief; at least Bart hadn't gone weaponless, wherever he'd gotten to.

Slowly and quietly the door opened and Bart stumbled in, attempting to be discreet and failing. He had one of the cantina's cups in his hand, full of steaming coffee. Bret could see the cup shaking, not much, but enough to alert him to the fact that his brother wasn't completely over what had plagued him last night. He sat up in bed just as Bart took a seat at the small table by the window.

"How's your head?" the older brother questioned, knowing full well what kind of an answer he was going to get.

"Shhhhh, not so loud," Bart cautioned. "Somebody's drillin' a well in my head."

"Yeah, no doubt," came the reply. "That excavation was started last night. Whadda you remember?"

"Not much after the first . . . . . Bart stopped mid-sentence, beginning to look a little green around the gills. He gulped and took a sip of coffee, then finished the thought. " . . . . drink. Did I. . . . . have more than one.?"

"Oh yeah," came Bret's answer. "Two that I know of. Why the whiskey?"

"Don't say it that loud. I can hear you. Just needed something to . . . . I don't know, wipe the chalkboard clean."

"You'd a been fine if it was straight whiskey."

Bart took a sip of coffee and fixed confused eyes on his brother's face. "That's what I asked for."

Bret rubbed his eyes and ran his hand over his face. "Well, that's not what ya got. It had a tequila back."

"What?"

"'Rotgut', I believe you called it."

Bart looked sheepish. "Well, it is."

"No doubt your stomach thinks so, too."

"Now I understand. Couldn't figure out why everything's so upset this morning." Bart took another swallow of coffee and then set the cup down. "Somethin' you haven't told me?"

Bret gave a small laugh, examining his brother's face carefully. "You mean your insides don't remember?"

"Oh." He looked embarrassed and ashamed at the same time. "In front of everybody?"

"Nope. Just me."

The coffee cup found its way back into Bart's hands. "Any ideas why?"

Bret shook his head and was glad it didn't hurt. "None. Wasn't any reason that I could see. Maybe that's just the way they serve drinks at the cantina."

There was a knock at the door, and Beau's voice asked, "You up in there?"

"Come in, Cousin Beau," Bart called.

When the door opened, Beau stood there half-dressed and looking confused. He stepped into the room while asking, "Either of you seen Doc this morning?"

Bret shook his head, Bart answered, "No. Why?"

"Because he's gone."


	12. Goin' to Texas

And the Devil Makes Five

Chapter 12 – Goin' to Texas

A giggle emanated from under the blanket, and that was music to Doc Holliday's ears. He patted the lump from above the covers and it giggled again and moved, wiggling around in the bed. The movement under Doc's fingers made him smile, especially since he knew who it was that was wiggling. Rosalie was a buxom girl of sixteen or seventeen and just Doc's type of woman. Still young and spirited, rather than old and worn-out, she was delighted to be the gringo's first choice, even if she didn't know exactly who he was. Underneath all the sarcastic bluster he had kind eyes, and proved to be a gentle and thoughtful lover.

So she was more than happy to stay in bed with him, even though they'd long since finished their lovemaking. Except for the incessant coughing, the muy extraño hombre was the most pleasurable experience she'd had in a long time. She continued to wiggle and giggle under the blankets and had no hesitation when she could see that he was ready and reached for her again. She came up from under the rough covers and they kissed, long and leisurely, and were just beginning to enjoy themselves when the door to the room burst open and three more gringos stood in the doorway. Bemused expressions on two of their faces, and a shocked one on the third, the man she laid next to didn't seem upset or embarrassed in the least. The one that spoke was the tallest and darkest of the three, and he tipped his hat to her before addressing her partner.

"Doc, isn't it a little early in the day for that?" Bret asked quite matter-of-factly.

Doc looked at the oldest gambler with puzzlement. "Blasphemer! It's never too early for a little love."

Bart spoke up next. "You were supposed to join us for breakfast, Doc."

Doc coughed, then laughed, then coughed again. "My friend, you have breakfast your way and I shall have it mine." He looked from one to the other, making note of Beau's still stunned expression. "Gentlemen, if you would be so kind, Rosalie and I have some business to finish. I shall meet you in the cantina for some libation shortly."

The two men in front both tipped their hats and the dark headed one closed the door behind them. Doc turned his head to Rosalie and smiled. "Now, young lady, I believe I was about to have seconds of breakfast."

XXXXXXXX

Bart sat back and laughed, the first thing he'd been able to laugh about since he woke up. "Doc makes life interesting, doesn't he?"

Beau looked askance at his cousin. "Interesting? You call that interesting? What kind of life is that, having to pay for a young ladies attention?"

Bart chuckled. "Better than no ladies attention."

The conversation was cut short as Doc sauntered into the cantina, looking just as pleased with himself as could be. "Gentlemen. This is a bit more civilized." He signaled the bartender, who produced a bottle and glass. Doc gathered both up and sat at the table, where Bret and Beau were finishing breakfast and Bart was having a serious conversation with his third cup of coffee. He'd let Bret talk him into some toast, just to help settle his stomach after last night, but that was as far as he was willing to go.

"Can I offer anyone a libation?" Doc raised the bottle and when three heads shook 'no' poured a glass full for himself. "How are you feeling this morning, Bart?"

The card sharp knew what he was being asked, and refused to take the bait. "Just fine, Doc. And you?"

"Ripe as a Georgia peach," came the answer, without a moment's hesitation. "I had a big breakfast."

Even Bret had to laugh at that. "Doc, there's nobody on earth like you!"

"Thank God," offered the gunslinger. "Are you all just about ready for our little charade?"

"Close," Beau said while finishing the last bit of food on his plate. "As long as you don't intend to go back to the same place for lunch."

Bart almost spit out the mouthful of coffee he was on the verge of swallowing. Even Bret had to put his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. Who knew Cousin Beau could be so witty?

Doc allowed a small smile. Maybe Beau Maverick wasn't such a proper fellow, after all. "I try never to have meals at the same place twice, Beau. I find that I enjoy my food a lot more that way."

Bart didn't dare laugh anymore. He'd spent enough time with Doc to know the more you laughed at his witticisms, the more he carried on. If they were going to ride out before the heat of the day they needed to go soon.

"Gentlemen, I'm ready when you are." Doc finished the whiskey in his glass and walked the bottle and glass back to the bar. "Take good care of these, Pedro. I shall return for them later."

The bill was paid, and the four men left the cantina, unaware that a lone figure watched them from the back of the building. In the darkened niche of the far corner almost entirely obscured by the dim light, a tall, blond man pushed his hat back on his head and watched the exit with interest. The badge in his pocket read 'Texas Ranger.'

XXXXXXXX

They'd been here before. The walls of the monastery were just as crumbled, the area around the building just as desolate. And there was no more gold here now than there had been before. They were going through the motions of pretending to look for what they knew they weren't going to find. After about two hours of playing in the dirt Bart had enough and found a dark corner to nap in. Beau soon followed suit and it wasn't long before Bret was the only one still standing. Morning turned to afternoon and Bret figured they'd been gone from town long enough, considering they were leaving in the morning. He attempted to wake Bart, who ignored him the first time and tried to go back to sleep. That was to be expected; Bart had been restless all night after the drinking incident. Beau was another story; he hadn't slept well the entire trip, too worried about Georgia to rest for any length of time. They got Doc up last; he'd actually been awake all night with Rosalie and at least had a reasonable excuse.

They returned to town the way they'd come out to the ruins, and on the ride back were watched by an entire regiment of Federales. They agreed they'd done as much stalling as they were capable of and decided to make this their last night in Nuevo Laredo, with no drinking on the menu for any of the Mavericks, just in case. Doc was always going to do just what Doc wanted when it came to whiskey. Besides, if they were ever going to talk to the Franciscan monks, who were hopefully more co-operative than the Anglicans, they were going to have to cross the border back into Laredo itself.

Dinner was eaten at the cantina, and no one drank anything stronger than coffee. Doc once again assumed possession of the whiskey bottle, but this time when the Americanos left for the night, the bottle went with him.

The night passed peacefully, much like the previous night was supposed to. When morning came all that was left was for everyone to saddle up and cross the Rio Grande River back into the United States and Laredo. If only it had been that easy.

Muy extraño hombre – Very odd man


	13. Via San Ysidro

And the Devil Makes Five

Chapter 13 – Via San Ysidro

All they had to do was cross the river and they would be back in Texas. In the States with the golden treasure in their saddlebags, free and clear of the Mexican government. No more Banditos or Federales to contend with. Unexpected riches, enough to keep them all jubilant for a very long time. One little river. One not so little river.

They started out early. There were several places that were suitable for crossing, but the first one they went to had Federales on one side waiting and Texas Rangers on the other. So did the second and third locations. After a while, it became apparent that lawmen on both sides of the Rio Grande were looking for someone, probably them. At the last site, the four men gathered to form a plan.

"If they're lookin' for us, they're gonna be everywhere we can cross," Beau offered, stating the obvious. "I think we need to lay low for a while and see if they give up."

"Damn, I was looking forward to - " Doc started.

"American whiskey," Bart interjected.

"A good steak," Beau added.

"A Texas woman," Bret finally finished.

"Yes," Doc answered. "Guess I have to wait."

"I think we oughtta head northwest, see if we can out-maneuver 'em." Bret usually had a backup plan.

Three heads nodded, and they turned their horses northwest. Right back towards Santa Pietro. They rode all day, trying to stay out of site as much as possible, but kept running into small troops of Federales. The further north they traveled, the worse everything around them looked. If they couldn't get across the border at some point, they would end up right back where they started, in Carmenita's hometown.

XXXXXXXX

One obvious conclusion – somebody needed to ride into Santa Pietro to see if they could lose themselves where there were no Federales, at least for a few days until the manhunt was abandoned. The obvious choice to do that was Bart, and he was adamantly against it. He turned to his brother in frustration. "You wouldn't let me go explain it to her," he protested. "How am I gonna persuade her to hide us now?"

"You may be the only one she's willing to talk to," answered Bret.

"Or she might tell the Federales where we are," Bart replied.

"You want to spend the rest of your life in a Mexican prison? Cause if you do, we can just turn ourselves in now."

Bart shook his head. "I'm going, under protest." He gathered his reins and mounted, and headed off towards town.

Beau watched him go and turned to Doc. "One way or the other, this gets resolved today."

"I don't know," Doc answered. "Carmenita looked plenty pissed when she left that morning. Sure hope she doesn't turn us in. I'd hate to have to shoot my way out of jail in Mexico."

XXXXXXXX

Carmenita sat and listened as Bart tried to explain what had happened the night he ran away from her and out of her house. When he was done and couldn't think of anything more to add, she reached over and took his hand in hers. "Niño pobre. Fantasmas obsesionan a todos nosotros."

"Can we stay in Santa Pietro until the policia stop searching for us?"

She nodded her head. "Si. Mi familia no está en la posición inicial. Puede stgay conmigo."

"You understand, Carmenita. Not with you, but with you?" He meant it literally.

Carmenita nodded. "Si. Niño pobre." She let go of his hand and ran her fingers down his cheek.

Bart stood up. "Then I'm going back for everybody. We'll be back pronto." He kissed her chastely on the cheek and left, wanting to get the others back here as soon as possible. He'd feel less apprehensive about the whole situation once he wasn't alone.

By early afternoon, all four men had arrived back at Carmenita's house. True to her word, there was no family home yet, and they were able to slip in quietly. No one knew how long they were going to be there, or when it would be safe to leave and cross back into Texas. Bret waited until twilight and snuck back out, scouting the area for unwanted Federales or Rangers, and rode all the way to the border without seeing any. Either no one believed the Americanos would venture this far west or the law was looking for someone else.

Bart and Beau wanted to leave right now, head across the border and deal with whatever they found in Texas. Bret and Doc opted to wait for a day or two and give everyone, horses included, some hard-earned rest. As usually happened, they cut cards for which choice to make, and Bret drew an ace. Wait it was.

There was no repeat of the scene from the last time they'd spent the night with Carmenita. With nothing better to do than sit around and play poker with each other, all four men were asleep before midnight each night. Three days later they were ready to go, and dawn came early. They intended to be up and out by six, but by the time they got to the border it was too late and the Mexican Federales were already patrolling the entire stretch. The only good news was the lack of Texas Rangers on the other side of the border. Bart shook his head and glared at his brother. "You and those damn marked cards," he spit out. "If we'd gone the first night we'd be back in Texas."

"Maybe," Bret answered. "Just because I couldn't see 'em doesn't mean they weren't there. Let's try heading back east and see if we can get through."

"Again?" Beau interjected.

"Again," Bret responded.

"We could shoot our way across," Doc offered. All three Mavericks glared at him. "It was just a suggestion."

Once again they turned their horses southeast. "Riding in circles," Bart muttered through clenched teeth.

XXXXXXXX

There were only four horses, with four riders, but the spirit that rode along with them was the devil himself, and the devil made five. And they honestly believed the devil was with them when the sky burst open and rain began pouring down, drenching every one of them to the bone. They finally sought shelter in a cave, one of the many that dotted the desert hills and spent the night. Another endless night on the hard ground, but at least they were dry.

The next morning the rain was still falling in sheets of gray from the sky, but Bart had an idea. "How far's San Ygnacio?"

"About half a day's ride," Doc replied. "Good idea. Maybe goin' south will work."

Late that afternoon the devil finally deserted them and Lady Luck appeared to take his place. San Ygnacio was devoid of both Mexican and American lawmen, and they made the crossing into the United States with no resistance. Everyone but Doc was so worn-out that the only thing they wanted was sleep, so the saddlebags were brought to the hotel rooms and the three Mavericks went to sleep. Doc, as was his usual custom, spent his night with a bottle and glass, and never left his room.

They were home, but they weren't home free.

Niño pobre. Fantasmas obsesionan a todos nosotros – Poor boy. Ghosts haunt all of us.

Mi familia no está en la posición inicial. Puede stgay conmigo – My family is not home yet. You can stay with me.

Niño pobre – Poor boy


	14. And for My Final Trick

And the Devil Makes Five

Chapter 14 – And for My Final Trick . . . . .

"Alright, it's not funny. Where is it?" Bret stood in their room and held out the empty saddle bag for Bart's inspection.

"Where's what?" his brother shot back.

"The chalice, Brother Bart."

Bart looked at him with those eyes, the ones he used when he was telling the truth but trying to get you to feel sorry for him. "How should I know?"

"Quit joking. What did you do with it?"

"I don't have it, Bret. I didn't do anything with it."

Bret turned his saddlebags upside down and shook them. "Well, it's not here and it didn't just walk away by itself."

"Maybe Beau's got it." Bart was sincere. His brother could tell that he really didn't have the missing chalice.

"Beau had the other one."

"Maybe he's got both of them," Bart suggested.

Bret took the empty saddlebags with him, down the hall to Beau's room. He pounded on the door and waited for his cousin to answer it. When the door opened the first words out of Bret's mouth were "Tell me you have the chalices."

Beau wore a startled expression. "Chalices? Only the one you gave me." He left Bret at the door and walked over to the bed. Picking up his saddlebags and searching inside, he discovered . . . . . nothing. They were completely empty.

"Could Doc have taken them?" Bret asked.

"You never know, with Doc," was Beau's reply.

They both went to Doc's room. It was almost five minutes before Doc answered; he opened the door and looked at the two of them. "Pete and Repeat! What can I do for you?"

"Please tell us you have the chalices."

Doc looked offended. "The Chalices? Me? Why would I have them? You two had them."

Bret and Beau looked at each other, and then at Doc. "They're gone," Bret intoned.

"What? Where? When? How?"

Beau looked like his dog had died. "All good questions, none with answers."

Bart joined the group at Doc's door, and all three Mavericks entered the room. "When was the last time you saw them?" Doc questioned.

Bret thought about it for a minute. He didn't want to think what he was thinking. "In Santa Pietro, at Carmenita's. The second time."

The four men looked at each other, each wondering if the other three were thinking what they were thinking.

"Do you think – "

"I don't know, could she – "

"Would she?"

Three of them turned and looked at Bart. He just shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea."

XXXXXXXX

"My child, these are magnificent. How did you get them?"

Carmenita blushed as she handed the second chalice to the padre. "They were a gift for the church, from the Americanos that were here in Santa Pietro, father. They wanted to be sure that you got them and they couldn't stay until you returned from Nuevo Laredo, so they left them with me. I would have brought them over yesterday, but my family just came home from Puente Del Mar and I hadn't seen everyone in so long - so I brought them today, so the church would have them."

"And who were these very generous Americans, Carmenita?"

She smiled at the memory. "They are named after stray cattle, padre. Their name is Maverick."

XXXXXXXX

Three days later, Bret, Bart and Beau Maverick sat in a saloon in Corpus Christi with Doc Holliday and drank coffee, while Doc and his beloved whiskey made sweet music together. None of the four was happy to have given almost a month of their lives to what turned out to be a waste of their time. They'd gotten out of Mexico with their lives and none was ungrateful for that – but there was no monetary reward waiting for them as they had anticipated.

Beau was leaving the next day for Silver Creek and Bret was going along. Bret thought it would be a good idea, considering what Beau was worried about most – Georgia's health. Beau didn't want to tell Bart about the potential problem unless he had a definite need to do so. Montana had not been good to or for the youngest Maverick.

Doc was headed for Arizona, and Bart was going with him. He needed some time to deal with everything that had happened in Montana and Wyoming and thought a change of traveling partner might be a good thing for a time. He didn't blame Bret for the 'breakup' with Millie Ridgeway, but being around his brother always reminded him of the loss, and he needed to forget for a while.

One of the layovers on the journey north was Dallas, and Bret intended to see Rafael's wife and child when the stage stopped for the night. He was going to keep his promise to Rafael, even though no one knew about it but his brother. It was a debt of honor, and Bret intended to pay it.

The four men talked and drank and played poker until the wee hours, finally saying good night early in the morning. Bret and Bart shared a room one more time, and Bret was glad to spend this last night with his brother. They were in the process of getting undressed when Bret started the last long conversation they would share for quite some time. "You sure everything's alright with you?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?" Bart hung his coat carefully over the chair by the window. Quite a change from the old days, when everything he owned was unceremoniously dumped in a pile on the floor.

"About the cross and chain, I mean."

They'd had an extended conversation about the disposition of the gold and jeweled necklace two days before. Bart naturally wanted to keep it; he'd almost paid for it with his life when he plunged down the well shaft during the earthquake. Bret wanted to give it to Rafael's family, as he'd promised. This was one argument Bart had no intention of losing until Bret explained to his brother just HOW he'd managed to get out of jail in Abilene. Once that information came to light there was no further argument, and Bart agreed that the precious gift should belong to Bret's protector's widow and son.

Bart unbuttoned his vest and sat down on the chair to pull his boots off. "I'm sure everything's alright with me about the cross and chain." He paused for a moment and waited until he knew Bret was paying attention to him. "I'm alright about everything else, too." He stopped getting undressed for a moment, wanting to make sure his brother heard everything he had to say. "I can appreciate the bind I put you in, Bret, when I told you I didn't want to know whatever I'd forgotten. That was my decision, not yours, and you weren't responsible for it. That whole thing with Millie – it just happened. Not your fault. If I could go back and change it, I don't know if I would. I just need to get away from it for a while. Does that make sense?"

Bret walked over in bare feet and slapped his brother on the shoulder. "Yes it does, Brother Bart. It makes perfect sense. Maybe I'll meet you in Arizona when I leave Montana. Time apart might be beneficial to both of us."

Bart looked up at his brother and asked, "There's somethin' you're not tellin' me, isn't there? Somethin' Beau asked you not to discuss just yet?"

Bret turned his back to his brother and walked back over to the bed. That way he wasn't forced to lie to Bart's face. "Nope. Not a thing."

"Alright, then, I'll see you in a couple months? In Arizona?"

"Yes, sir, I'll see you in two months in Arizona."

Neither of them knew then it would be almost a year before they'd be together again. And that one of them would be an entirely different man by the time they reunited.

The End

What's next for the Maverick Brothers? Something totally unexpected. Coming soon, "Death Has It's Price."


End file.
